


Math Reasons

by pearl_o, pocky_slash



Series: Math Reasons [1]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Background Het, Background Slash, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Family, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out, Meet the Family, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutant Rights, Past Child Abuse, Piercings, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Texting, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 84,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.</em>
</p><p>Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. then

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [此一时，彼一时](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003797) by [Go_MrCactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go_MrCactus/pseuds/Go_MrCactus)



> We started texting about this the second weekend in July, casually tossing around ideas for a prompt. A week and a half later we started writing it. Two and a half weeks after that, we had 84,000 words. This has been QUITE a ride.
> 
>  **Note on Relationships:** Regarding the Charles/Other(s) and Erik/Other(s) tags--while this is a Erik/Charles story, both of them do have relationships with other people before they get together, including Charles with Moira, Hank, and an OFC; and Erik with various OMCs. All explicit material is Charles/Erik.

Charles fell in love with Erik Lehnsherr the very first week of college, at the very first college party he ever attended.

At the time, he didn't pay it much mind. At barely eighteen, he had already lost track of how many times he had fallen in love. Dozens, probably. The month before, he'd fallen in love with the girl in the seat next to him on the airplane on the way home from the terrible vacation he'd spent with his family. Her mind had lit up like sparklers when she told him about her horse and how much she loved riding and Charles had been completely infatuated for the length of the flight, and even a few hours after. Just the week before he moved into his room on campus, he fell in love with the new barista at the Starbucks in his hometown, a chatty Puerto Rican boy who used his cooling powers to make iced coffees and cappuccinos, his mind emanating a cool calm as he did it. 

Charles fell in love easily and hard and, ultimately, fleetingly.

Usually.

He assumed, at the time, that was all this latest infatuation was—falling head over heels in love with the sexy, passionate, loud mutant boy at the party who was standing on a chair and ranting about the human establishment, then dancing with a generically attractive hipster boy to some sort of pulsing dance music, their hips moving in obscene time to the rhythm of the music.

Charles never actually spoke to the boy at that party, but that was fine. His mind was beautiful—it lit the whole room up like a beacon, like nothing Charles had ever sensed before. And not speaking to him didn't stop Charles from crafting a series of ridiculous fantasies, that night and the next, of how they were meant to be, half-laughing at himself even while he remembered the sharp lines of the boy's hips in his low-rise jeans and the startling pure strum of his thoughts as he lectured the room.

His feelings were all-consuming and true and fierce, but—well, it was also the first week of college. Charles was about to meet hundreds of other people, after all, and probably many of them would be smart and funny and interesting and attractive and engaging and all of the other attributes that made him melt every time. 

It wasn't until Tuesday morning that he realized that something might be different this time. Introduction to Mutant Biology was a prerequisite to nearly every class Charles intended to take in his major, and plenty of the electives too, a low-level class to get out of the way before diving into more intense science courses. 

The professor spent most of the first class meeting going over the syllabus, line by line. By the time he began to wrap it up, there were about fifteen minutes left, and Charles could feel the sudden interest of the other students in the lecture hall as they began to perk up at the possibility of being let out early—only to have their hopes be suddenly crushed as the boy from the party raised his hand to ask a question. Sort of. It was more akin to a pontification than a question in some ways.

At the party, Charles had been giddy and excited and surrounded by equally nervous and emotionally heightened minds. He hadn't so much listened to the content of the boy's speech as the way he said it, the way he believed it. And that was all well and good at a party, where Charles was drinking and happy and excited and relaxed and buoyed by the intoxicated minds of those around him, but this was class, and Charles had limits on how far someone could twist the rules of science for their cause.

No matter how hot they were.

"We're meant," the boy was saying, "to be the better species, the species that survives." He was ostensibly talking to the professor, but Charles could tell he was hoping to incite a passionate response from the other students as well. A few looked interested—a few others looked positively rapturous—but most seemed to be watching the clock more than anything else. The boy had been speaking for nearly five minutes now, and there were still ten until class was officially over. 

"Homo sapiens killed off neanderthals," the boy continued, and Charles winced. The professor seemed amused. Charles could tell, without even reading him, that he was going to let the boy wind himself up and then knock him down, but there was only so much Charles could take. Ten more minutes was a long time. "And I'm not saying we need to kill off humans, but if that's the direction we're going, shouldn't we be focused on rising above them?"

Charles laughed. He couldn't help himself and he covered his mouth with his hands quickly, but it was too late—everyone was staring at him.

"What?" the boy asked, pining Charles under his gaze, and it was really unfair how attractive he still was, even when he was being an idiot.

"You're just...working on really terribly out of date science," Charles explained. "Yes, I know those are the theories that Eisenhardt cites in that terrible 'Tirade on Mutant Bigotry'—"

" _Treatise on Mutant Supremacy_ ," the boy said pointedly. Charles ignored him.

"—but it's been decades since that was a widely held belief in the scientific community. That's just not the way that biology works. Yes, mutations in the X-gene cluster can cause some of us to be gifted with various extrahuman abilities, but it's not a consistent call to supremacy for those of us affected—many people with the same mutations are born with birth defects, with powers that make them _more_ vulnerable, not less, with changes as simple as an extra appendage. Science isn't a call to arms for the supposedly 'strong' over the supposedly 'weak.' Especially science as terrible and wrong as the nonsense you're spouting."

That should have been the point where Charles fell sharply out of love with the mysterious boy from the party. He kept waiting for it to happen, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but the way he was still staring at Charles.

"Mr. Xavier is correct," the professor said. "And we'll be spending the next sixteen weeks discussing, in detail, why Mr. Xavier is correct and why Mr. Lehnsherr's ideas need to be updated for the modern age. Review the first chapter of your textbook and the readings marked 'Lecture 1' on Blackboard. I'll see you on Thursday."

Charles could feel the relief wash over the rest of the students. Bags were picked up, the room broke out into chatter, the professor started to pack up, and Charles was stuck still staring at the boy he should have been firmly out of love with, waiting for the path to the doorway to be clear enough for his wheelchair. He didn't consider himself particularly shy, but he desperately wanted to get out of the room and away from this fiasco. It was still his first week, only his third college class. He didn't want to make enemies just yet.

His chance to escape disappeared as the boy grabbed his bag and stalked across the room towards Charles.

"What's your name?" he asked once he was close enough. The room was nearly empty now, save for a cluster of three boys wearing skinny jeans and vintage shirts who were lingering at the door.

"Charles."

"I'm Erik." He crossed his arms. "Are you a mutant?"

It was a blunt question, but Charles had known Erik for approximately two hours total and was already beginning to suspect there weren't any other kinds when it came to him.

"Yes," Charles said. "I'm a telepath."

Erik's eyes lit up. "Really? Cool. But that doesn't explain why you're on the humans' side."

That spark of ire was enough to get Charles moving. He swung his bag onto his lap and began to roll out towards the door.

"There aren't sides!" he said. "It's not us-and-them! We're practically the same, really. We're certainly not another species."

"We should be." Erik was following him. Charles had planned to get lunch before his afternoon class, but maybe it was better to retreat to his room.

"What does that even mean?" Charles asked. "Do you even understand what that means, scientifically?"

Erik shrugged. He paused, to let Charles through the doorway first, and then followed. The hipster boys, Charles noticed, followed him. He assumed they were Erik's friends and tried to ignore them.

"Does it matter?" Erik asked, returning to walk beside Charles' chair.

"Yes!" Charles insisted. "It matters! You can't just throw out centuries of scientific inquiry because something sounds cool in one of your pamphlets!"

"I don't have pamphlets," Erik replied. Then, "Should I, you think? I think the Mutant Union on campus is way too conservative and I was thinking of starting my own. What do you think about 'The Brotherhood?'"

"I think the Feminist Collective is going to have a few things to say about that," Charles said.

" _I_ think it's a good idea!" one of the boys behind them called out. Erik threw a skeptical look over his shoulder, but didn't further address him.

"Are you in Mutant Studies?" Erik asked. He waved his hand to open the double doors of the building, allowing them to exit side-by-side. He must have been a telekinetic or something in that family. He didn't even look up from the piercing look he was _still_ giving Charles. It was really unfairly attractive.

"I'm in Mutant Evolution and Genetics," Charles said.

"Oh, cool," Erik said. "So you do actually know all the science stuff."

Charles rolled his eyes and focused on his dorm building. His instinct was right—it was definitely best to skip the dining hall if he wanted a moment to himself to regroup. 

"Unlike you," he said. 

"I'm Mutant Studies," Erik continued, as if Charles hadn't spoken.

"Of course," Charles said.

"Best place in the country for it," Erik said. 

He wasn't wrong. Charles chose Claremont Hills University over a legacy at Harvard entirely because of the large mutant population and incredible mutant faculty.

"I hope you're ready to get used to hearing and absorbing all sorts of different viewpoints," Charles said, "and not just clinging to your preconceived notions. Or else you might as well be not be here at all."

Even to himself it sounded a little stuffy, but Erik smiled, suddenly and widely. He had almost too many teeth for his mouth, yet another thing that _should_ have made him less attractive.

"I'm planning on making the most of it here," Erik said. "It's pretty exciting."

That, Charles liked, that easy confidence of admitting it. He'd already come across plenty of other freshman who didn't seem excited at all, which he couldn't begin to understand, or who were excited but seemed to think it was cool to pretend not to be. 

Erik had multiple piercings in both ears and Charles was willing to bet his casually stylish wardrobe was carefully and artfully crafted. Charles would have pegged him as someone who definitely cared what other people thought was cool.

They had crossed the quad by now and reached Charles' dorm. Charles stopped in front of the main entrance to get his keycard out of his bag. Instead of putting it away neatly in his wallet this morning he'd just thrown it in after breakfast, which he rather regretted now. While he dug through his things (he probably hadn't needed to bring along quite this many books and notebooks, really), Erik blinked and looked around at their surroundings for the first time since they'd left the science building.

"This isn't the dining hall."

"No," Charles agreed, "this is my dorm."

"Yeah, it's mine too. Here, let me get it," Erik said, and when he waved his hand a little, the light on the electronic sensor turned from red to green with a click as the doors unlocked. More complicated than classic telekinesis then, Charles thought, and more interesting, too. Not that all mutations weren't interesting, but nonetheless. The doors opened a second later, with another gesture from Erik, and Charles went inside, Erik still trailing behind him, though Erik didn't bother to hold the doors long enough for his hipster friends to follow them in.

"I'm on the third floor," Erik said. "My roommate's a baseline, and kind of a jock-y douche, but he's not that bad, I guess."

Charles' room was in the corner of the building, an accessible single tucked in next to the stairwell. His name was spelled out in construction paper cut-outs on his door—the hall RA had been very eager, and if the decorations were a little juvenile, it was still a nice gesture. Charles had put up his dry erase board underneath, but there were no messages on it yet.

"This is me," Charles said.

Erik stared down at him expectantly. His eyes had looked blue from far away, but up close they were a more complicated mixture of all sorts of shades. 

"...Would you like to come in?"

"Sure!"

It was a little discombobulating, Charles had to admit. The boy that he was still—still!—somehow infatuated with following him into his room and plopping down on Charles' bed as if he belonged there. In the general outline, it wasn't so much different than some of Charles' dumb fantasies, but the particulars were one hundred percent weird. For one thing, Charles wasn't sure how any of this had happened, and for another, it didn't actually feel like anything Erik was doing was flirting. 

"You should give me your phone," Erik said.

"I should?" Charles began to empty his bag onto his desk, organizing his books and textbooks into a pile. There was his keycard, trapped at the very bottom.

"So I can give you my phone number."

"What?" Charles asked, but apparently Erik was done explaining. He spread his fingers and Charles' phone wiggled out of the front pocket of his bag and smacked into Erik's open palm. He swiped it open—Charles reminded himself for the hundredth time to put a lock on it—and tapped a few things into it. Moments later, Erik's phone buzzed and he slid it out of the pocket of his too tight jeans to futz with that as well.

"There," he said finally, and Charles' phone floated back to the desk and landed neatly next to his books. 

"And now...?" Charles prompted. 

"And now we can text," Erik said with exaggerated patience, like Charles was the one following strangers around and barging into their rooms and totally out of his mind.

"Oh," Charles said.

"You were at the party at the Mutant Union on Saturday night, right?" Erik continued. "I remember feeling the wheelchair. Are you going to join the Mutant Union? I've been thinking about it, but I really don't like the direction they seem to be headed and I think they probably wouldn't take my ideas seriously as a freshman, so the best plan might be to start my own mutant group."

The conversation was completely out of Charles' control. Erik was just casually lounging on his bed as if they'd known each other forever, his hand resting on his stomach right above the bare strip of skin between the top of his jeans and the ridden up bottom of his t-shirt and Charles needed to _focus_. He grasped a single phrase from the barrage of words and ran with it.

"You _felt_ the wheelchair?" he asked, and Erik's eyes lit up.

"Oh, yeah, I guess I didn't say!" Erik replied. He raised his hand in the air and half of Charles' belongings seemed to hover half an inch off of every surface.

No. It wasn't half of Charles' belongings, it was a very specific subset of Charles' belongings.

"Metal?" he guessed, and Erik grinned with all his teeth again.

"Basically? Close enough," Erik said. "I can manipulate magnetic fields which, most practically, translates to lifting and manipulating ferromagnetic stuff. But I can do cool stuff with electricity, too, and like, the Earth's magnetic fields? But a lot of that is pretty advanced. A little at a time, you know."

Charles could tell, without even looking at the smirk on Erik's face, how awed he must look.

"That's _amazing_ ," he said. "I've never heard of anything like that before. Tell me more!"

"Seriously?" Erik asked, and Charles nodded quickly. He pushed away his desire to take notes—that would probably be weird and he didn't want to be weird. Or, well, weirder than he already was. Or weirder than Erik, who was weird as anything, but in a way that made it clear it was a cool sort of weirdness that Charles could never pull off.

Erik talked about his mutation for another twenty minutes and even allowed Charles to pepper him with questions. He kept talking even as he backed out of the room, late for his next class and shouting that they'd finish the conversation later because Charles still hadn't told him whether he'd form a new mutant student group with him and there were other things Erik wanted to ask him. And then Erik was gone, back out into the larger world, leaving Charles behind with his head spinning.

And still, frustratingly, completely in love with Erik. It hadn't faded, seeing how flawed and human Erik was. Not even a little. In fact, he was possibly _more_ in love with Erik after spending time with him, flaws, ego, and all.

Frustrating as it was, it was a little exciting in a way, too. Charles supposed he might as well try to enjoy it while it lasted.

He was glad enough for the philosophy, later. By the time he made it out of his stats class that afternoon, he had three unread texts on his phone, and when he headed to dinner, he had barely started eating before Erik sat down across from him and immediately began speaking as if they were already mid-conversation.

The force of Erik's personality was like a hurricane, or maybe a steamroller, and somehow it was both endearing and immensely flattering to have that focused so directly upon you.

There was no point in denying it to himself. Charles was a goner.


	2. now

Erik is incredibly skilled in the art of texting one-handed while crossing campus. Between his abilities and the amount of metal most people carry around on them, he's usually able to pick a pretty clear path, and his scowling expression generally assures it. He could stop texting, of course, but if Charles is going to have such stupid television habits, it's Erik's job to mock him for it as quickly and frequently as possible. It's bad enough that the family reunion he had to go to over spring break kept him from mocking Charles' week-long HGTV marathon--he has to step it up to make up for lost time.

He makes it all the way into the dorms and onto the second floor before he runs into anyone, but when he looks up from his phone to glare, he startles and takes a step back.

"Oh," he says. "It's you."

It makes sense. He's standing outside of Janos' door—of course he ran into Janos.

"Yes," Janos says, crisply.

Janos is, on the surface, exactly like every other guy Erik has dated in the three and a half semesters he's been at Claremont. He's a mutant, first of all, but also hot, hip, condescendingly cool, and excellent in bed. Unlike all of the other guys, though, he's kind of...pushy. Most of the guys Erik dates generally stay out of his way and do what he says. Janos has his own ideas about what they should do with their time and how much time they should spend together. It's...sort of weirdly refreshing.

But mostly annoying.

"Are we gonna go inside, or what?" Erik asks, tapping his foot as he waits for a reply from Charles. He can feel the electrical impulse hit his phone before it buzzes so there's no need to glance at the screen, but he does it anyway. It's reflexive. Still no text, though.

"No," Janos says again. Janos is like that, too—quiet. Most of the other guys want to talk his ear off about...well, him, mostly. How great they think his ideas are, their thoughts on the importance of mutant issues, their opinions on the mutant music he likes, how hot they think he is... Janos is quieter. It's kind of hot in bed, but it's disconcerting, otherwise.

"Uh, okay?" Erik asks. "Look, I told you when you texted, I have like, an hour until I meet Charles in the library to study, so if you want to fuck—"

"I don't want to fuck," Janos says, and Erik steals another glance at his phone. Probably he needs to go across the quad and peel a book out of Charles' hands if he's too "busy" to respond to Erik's really excellent joke.

"So, like...do you want to smoke or something?" Erik asks. He looks up at Janos again. He's getting frustrated. "You should have told me, I didn't bring anything with me, it's all back in my room."

"I don't want to fuck at all anymore," Janos says. "I'm tired of this." He gestures back and forth between them. Erik tilts his head and squints. He doesn't want to...talk? Stand in the hallway? 

"You're tired of...standing?" Erik asks. Sometimes the not talking thing was _super_ annoying. At least the others had no problem answering his questions. Erik looks at his phone again.

"No!" Janos snaps. "I'm tired of this! You're obviously not at all invested! I thought maybe it would be different than the others said but...you don't care."

"I care about a lot of things," Erik says, because it's true. Charles is always making fun of him for caring too much, for trying to do everything and be involved in every mutant cause, like Charles has any place to talk about caring _too much_. Charles sends fucking cute Facebook messages to _Ruth_ when she makes stupid posts about having a bad day.

"Are you...seriously not getting this?" Janos asks. "We're over!"

Erik blinks. Janos crosses his arms but doesn't elaborate. The pieces start to fall into place.

"Are you...are you breaking up with me?" Erik asks finally.

"Obviously!" Janos shouts loud enough that the RA down the hall sticks his head out to glare at them.

"Oh," Erik says. He blinks again.

"Are you an idiot? Obviously that's what I'm doing!" Janos hisses, glaring back at the RA and then turning his glare on Erik.

"This has literally never happened to me before," Erik tells him.

"Maybe it should happen more often," Janos mutters, then opens the door to his room and enters, mainly, Erik thinks, so he can slam it in Erik's face.

Erik stands and stares at the door for a moment, processing things.

Then, as he does whenever one of his stupid boyfriends is annoying the shit out of him, he turns around and goes to find Charles.

He has some time to think in the five minutes it takes him to cross campus and jog up the stairs in the library, but by the time he reaches their favorite study table, Erik's still pretty confused.

Charles has his stuff sprawled out enough to take up room for three people. He's frowning, gnawing on his lower lip as he glances back and forth between his laptop and the two thick books open in front of him, occasionally pausing to type out a few notes. Erik stands and just watches him for a moment before he slips into the chair across the table.

"Hey," Charles says absently. He doesn't look up from his book. "You're early."

Normally Erik would give Charles a hard time about not answering his texts quickly enough, but instead he just taps his fingers on the tabletop uncertainly. "I think...Janos and I just broke up."'

Charles snorts. "You _think_?"

"No," Erik says. "No, we definitely broke up. It's just weird."

"What's so weird about it?" Charles flips forward a few pages. "You always break up with them."

"That's just it," Erik blurts out. "He broke up with _me_."

That's what finally makes Charles raise his head to meet his gaze. He has a disbelieving expression on his face, which Erik finds slightly comforting. At least he's not the only one taken aback by this event.

"I know!" Erik says. "I don't—like, what? I don't know what happened. It's weird, right?"

Charles is pretty much staring at him. "You don't know what happened?" he repeats.

Erik nods. He looks at Charles expectantly, to see if Charles has any ideas—Charles is pretty good at figuring out people, and he never seems to have a problem telling Erik when he misses things—but Charles just gazes at him a little longer before shaking his head and turning back to his computer.

Erik's not sure what he was expecting, but it was a little more than this. If Charles isn't going to explain it to him, he could at least show a little more sympathy. The more Erik thinks about it, the more upset he feels about it. He's never just been...rejected like that before. He feels kind of lousy, actually. It's not even that he likes Janos that much, but still. He doesn't like this feeling at all. 

"I just don't understand," he says, leaning against the table and as far into Charles' personal space as he can manage from the other side. "Why would anyone break up with me?"

"I can't think of a single reason," Charles says. He's still typing and not offering the kind of sympathy that Erik normally can expect from Charles. Erik puts his head on the table and stares at Charles pitifully, usually the sort of move that gets at least a withering look from Charles. "Stop looking at me like that and open a book, Erik. You're better than Janos, you never really liked him, you never really like any of them, stop obsessing and study."

If Charles isn't going to listen to him, maybe studying will at least distract him from feeling this way. He sighs and reaches for his bag. He was planning on stopping at his room before he came to the library, so he doesn't actually have his laptop with him, but he does have his notebooks. Might as well review his notes.

"Good," Charles says once Erik's opened his binder. "Focus on something else. In a day or two you won't care about Janos at all anymore."

Erik focuses on his notes.

Erik does not stop obsessing over Janos two days later.

They're in Charles' room this time. They've had this conversation in the library, in the dining hall, in between classes, in Erik's room with his douchey prep roommate listening in, and in the student center. Charles has, so far, offered no suggestions as to why Janos would dump him, save for reminding Erik that he's an ass, an idiot, and very annoying, all of which are true, but were no less true before spring break, when Janos was still eager to be Erik's boyfriend. Today, Charles is once again attempting to study while Erik paces behind him.

"I just don't get it," he mutters.

"Oh good lord, please just kill me," Charles says. Erik hears more than sees Charles' head hit the desk.

"I mean," Erik continues, "I'm smart. I know I'm smart. And I'm one of like, five people on campus who cares about mutant music. And I'm hot. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm hot. I'm hot, right?"

"Of course you're hot," Charles mutters. "Please, are we ever moving on from this? Is your ego really this fragile?"

Erik ignores everything Charles says after 'of course.'

"And, I mean, objectively, pretty hot, right? Like, not just middlingly hot," he continues. "On a scale of one to ten, I'm pretty hot." He pauses, allowing Charles time to affirm this observation. When the silence goes on for too long, he nudges Charles' back with his foot.

"You're a ten!" Charles snaps. "I'm trying to read." Erik rolls his eyes.

"If you're not going to take this seriously—" Maybe Charles is right. Maybe he needs to stop obsessing and move on and find some other guy to fuck.

"I am taking your stupid game seriously," Charles says. "Now leave me alone for five bloody minutes, please!"

There have been a lot of things rolling around Erik's head for the past two days, a lot of feelings, a lot of thoughts, a lot of noise that he hasn't bothered to sort through. It all quiets for just a moment as Erik tries to process the strange drop in his stomach at the thought of Charles rating his attractiveness, the thought of Charles looking at him in such a way as to judge his attractiveness. 

The thought that Charles didn't have to look at him just now. He already knew. He already had an answer.

It's a lot to think about. It's a lot to process. It's a little hard to believe, honestly, as hot as Erik thinks he is.

"Seriously?" he asks again. He stops pacing and moves to lean against the desk next to Charles, staring down at him skeptically. Charles has gone a little red around the ears and he's clutching his book against his chest. He looks up at Erik, determined but flustered.

" _Seriously_ ," he says in the tone of voice that means Erik is dangerously close to walking around for an hour thinking he can hear his phone alarm ringing constantly. "You're the hottest guy in our year, probably one of the hottest guys in the school. You have a body that won't quit, _everyone_ thinks that, _everyone_ knows that. _You_ know that. And normally I would say it's how kind you are that elevates you to a full ten, but you will not leave me alone, you asshole."

It takes Erik a couple of seconds to realize his mouth is open; he shuts it with an audible clack, feeling like an idiot. His brain feels a little...fuzzy. Stunned. He probably wouldn't feel any more surprised if Charles had just slapped him in the face.

"Oh," Erik says. "Okay."

He stands up straight again, looking away from Charles' glare to frown vaguely down at the floor. 

"I can leave you alone for a bit if that's what you want," Erik says. He looks around Charles' room and starts to gather up his stuff, his bag and jacket hanging from the hook on the door, his Chucks tucked under Charles' dresser. He sits down on the edge of the bed to pull them back onto his feet and do up his laces. When he looks up again Charles is still watching him.

"I'll see you at dinner?" Erik ventures.

"Yeah, of course," Charles says, more gently than before, but maybe a little tired, too. It was only a few weeks ago that Charles was sick in bed for almost a week--maybe Erik should back off and not bother him. "I should have this presentation figured out by then."

Erik nods and leaves. As soon as he's out of Charles' door, he tucks his earbuds in and turns on his iPod, blasting out his music loud enough to drown out any confusing thoughts trying to form in his brain.

His strategy works well enough, for a little while, at least. It keeps niggling at him, though. Charles' words, and Charles' face. 

Three days later, they're eating breakfast in the dining hall, Erik picking at his Froot Loops while Charles yawns, half-asleep over his scrambled eggs, when Erik blurts out, "I'm not _kind_."

"Hmm?" Charles blinks up at him. His hair is a mess, still mostly bedhead despite his efforts at pulling a comb through it before they left the dorm. Charles always takes a while to wake up in the mornings; on weekends, Erik has to practically pull him out of bed to get to the dining hall before it closes for breakfast. He's still in his pajama pants, too (though they look enough like real clothes that he can get away with it without being as tacky as Erik finds some of their classmates), with one of Erik's too-big-for-him hoodies on top.

"What was that?" Charles continues, a little more alert.

"I'm not kind," Erik says again. "The other day, when I—you said I was kind. I'm not."

Charles looks perplexed. "Well," he says, "you've always been kind to _me_."

"That's not...that doesn't count. You're you."

Charles quirks his eyebrow, the way he always does when he thinks Erik's said something silly or foolish or dumb, like he's waiting for Erik to figure it out, too. But Erik knows exactly what he means, even if he doesn't know how to put it into words. 

"Never mind," Erik says abruptly. "Forget I said anything."

Charles lets it go with a shrug, changing the subject to the documentary he wants to see in town this weekend, but Erik keeps turning it over in his head.

On Tuesday, he's leaving his Allegory and Mutant Lit class when he hears someone behind him call, "Hey, Erik! Wait up!"

He stops and turns. One of the guys from his class is jogging toward him. Alejandro? Antonio? No, Angelo, that's it. His mutation is something to do with force fields, if Erik remembers right. 

"Hey," Erik says as Angelo stops next to him. "What do you want?"

Angelo tilts his head and smiles. "I heard that you were single again," he says, swaying forward into Erik's personal space, "so I thought I'd take my chance before someone else snatched you up. I've liked you for a while, you know. Your speeches are really inspirational."

Angelo brushes his hand down Erik's bicep. His body language is open and inviting—not that his actual words are particularly subtle, either. He's more muscley than most of the guys Erik dates, Erik can tell that through his tight flowered shirt and cords (which actually give a pretty good sense of the size of his dick as well). But muscles aren't necessarily a bad thing. 

He likes Erik, that's obvious. He's hot. It's been a week since Erik had sex.

There's no reason whatsoever not to say yes.

"Sorry," Erik says, shaking his head. "It's not really a good time."

He says it slowly and then turns around and continues his path towards the dorms. Angelo looks crushed, but Erik doesn't care about that. Erik is...he's feeling...there's something, all of these little things over the past few days, since Janos broke up with him, there's something there and he needs to think. He needs to have five minutes of quiet to figure them out.

He heads for Charles' room, because it's always easier to think in Charles' room. Charles has already left for his next class, but that's never stopped Erik from getting comfortable before. He drops his bag in the corner where it won't be in Charles' path and kicks his shoes off under the bed. He sits on the bed with his back pressed against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest and closes his eyes.

Okay, so Janos dumped him and people don't dump him and that was obviously upsetting. He was obviously upset. But he's _not_ upset about that anymore, not really, and he also didn't care when Angelo asked him out even though Angelo is hot and Erik isn't used to going this long without sex.

But if he's not upset about Janos and he's not upset about not having sex, he's still not felt right for days and he knows it's because of Charles. It's because of Charles and that stupid rating thing, but it's not because he pissed Charles off, because he pisses Charles off like, all the time and they're still best friends and he never feels like this. Like his skin is too tight. Like he doesn't know how to act around Charles anymore which is _crazy_ because Charles is his best friend. He loves Charles. But these past few days, he'll look at Charles and feel like...and feel like....

He opens his eyes. Oh god, Charles is _hot_. Charles is _hot_ and he's always been hot and Erik has always known that, objectively, but Charles is hot and funny and kind and mean and smart and he listens to all of Erik's problems and Erik has always wanted to be around him, to spend every second of his time with Charles, and he's never thought—because Charles is his best friend! So there was no need to put him in another category! He was in the best friend category! And he wasn't interested! So Erik didn't even think about it! But he said Erik was a ten and he said it without flinching, without thinking about it, like he _had_ thought about it, but not at that moment, like he had thought about it in the past and—

Charles can't _like_ him...can he?

And Erik isn't _in love_ with Charles. That's insane. That's...Charles is his best friend.

He's not sure how long he sits there, but it must be at least an hour or two. He sits there long enough that Charles returns from class. Moira is with him and they're chatting about some science something, something beyond Erik's personal scientific interests of mutant biology and robotic engineering. Moira doesn't flinch when she sees Erik in the room—all of their friends are used to Erik practically living in Charles' room, even when he's not there—but Charles slows down.

"Erik," he asks. He licks his lips and pauses and Erik can't be thinking about what a nice mouth he has because Charles is _his best friend_. "Is something wrong?"

"I just need...to think about something," Erik says slowly.

Charles nods. 

"Okay," he says. He glances up at Moira and raises his eyebrows. Moira rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but waves at Erik and tells Charles she'll see him later and leaves. Charles puts his bag on his desk and then moves over to the bed, pulling himself up and adjusting himself until he's next to Erik. Normally, Erik likes Charles sitting with him when he's trying to think. Normally, Erik isn't trying to think about Charles.

Still...it's not _not_ nice this time.

He slowly leans over until he's resting his head on Charles' shoulder.

"Let me know if you need any help," Charles says quietly.

Erik has no idea what to do, what to say, if Charles really likes him, if it's worth ruining their friendship if he doesn't. Erik's never asked out someone he _likes_ before. Still, he can't ask for Charles' help on this—even he's not that stupid.

"I will," Erik says.


	3. then

As it it turned out, Erik didn't get any less intense upon repeated exposure. Charles had sort of expected him to lose interest within a few days, but after two weeks, Charles had to accept that he had unexpectedly acquired a best friend.

He had never really had a best friend before, not really. He had lots of casual friends, but not like this, one person who just seemed to like him and enjoy his company more than anybody else. If the boy Charles watched at the party was passionate and super hot, and the first day of class he was singleminded and egocentric, then Erik as a friend was also just...immensely loyal and steadfast and caring. 

Two weeks in was when Charles made another important discovery about Erik, too.

Charles had already gotten his lunch and settled at one of the tables by the windows. He was scanning his phone—Raven had just texted him, whining about what an ass her homeroom teacher was, and he was trying to figure out a reply that would be encouraging and not just accidentally annoy her—but he spared a fraction of his consciousness to the room, keeping a mental eye out for the unique mind pattern that would mean Erik was close by.

He felt it as soon as Erik entered the dining hall, and he sent over a flash of _hello_ , which Erik acknowledged with his own burst of pleased greeting. In the time it took Erik to go through the line and acquire his food, Charles had finally figured out a decent-sounding reply for Raven, and he was just tucking his phone away as Erik approached with his tray and sank down into the next seat.

The weird part was, he wasn't alone. There was a tall, willowy boy wearing a shirt that looked like it came straight out of the 1800s alongside him, and while Charles had already mostly gotten used to the crowd of guys who followed Erik around with that dreamy awed expression on their faces, none of them had ever done anything like this, actually sitting down at their lunch table. 

Charles looked at him curiously. He opened his mouth to say something, but Erik started speaking first.

"We need to talk about that blog post you linked me to," he said firmly, and just like that he was off. 

When Erik finally paused to breathe and stuff french fries into his mouth, Charles took advantage of the opportunity to get a word in edgewise.

"Hi," he said to Shirt Boy, sticking out his hand. "I'm Charles Xavier."

"Hey," said Shirt Boy, looking away from Erik just long enough to give Charles' hand a half-hearted shake. "I'm Jason, Erik's boyfriend."

Charles could feel his eyebrows rise what felt like all the way up to his hairline. He glanced over to Erik, who was swallowing down his food with a milkshake—god, Erik's dietary habits were horrible; Charles was legitimately concerned sometimes that he could go days without approaching a vitamin—but Erik didn't acknowledge the boy's words at all.

"Nice to meet you," Charles said, giving the boy (Erik's _boyfriend_ ) a friendly smile.

"So you agree, right?" Erik reached across the table, using his fork to spear a piece of chicken off Charles' plate. "I can see a few of her points, but really, she's way too naive to take seriously."

"Oh my god!" Charles said. "You're not allowed to use the word ‘naive' anymore. I'm serious. You don't understand what it means, I'm revoking your usage rights."

Erik grinned widely. "Well, what word would you use, then?"

Their heated, mutually enjoyable discussion lasted the rest of lunch, and it was only as they were gathering their things up to clear the table that Charles realized he had more or less forgotten about Jason entirely, even though he had been there the whole time. He hadn't said another word the entire meal.

"And what are you studying, Jason?" he asked as Erik piled their plates together.

"Mutant Studies, obviously," Jason said, tearing his gaze away from staring adoringly at Erik. He was looking much less adoringly at Charles. He was looking at Charles with a level of condescension most people reserved for tiny yappy dogs. "Erik's ideas are _so_ fascinating, aren't they?"

That was one word for Erik's absurd mutant domination fantasies. 

"Ah," Charles said. "Well, actually—"

Erik saved him from having to walk the line between 'Erik is my friend and I love him and the part of me that feels uncomfortable with the fact that he's obviously fucking you wants to make my allegiance to him clear' and 'Erik's ideas are ludicrous and quaint and ignore years of legislation and progress and the very basics of human-mutant biology' by shoving the pile of dishes at Jason.

"Go bus these," Erik said, and Jason _beamed_ at him and then rushed away to put them in the dish return. Charles looked at Erik expectantly, but Erik didn't seem to find anything strange about anything that had happened over lunch. Charles didn't know how to bring it up—no, that wasn't right. He was terrified that bringing it up was just going to make him sound whiny and pining. So instead, he sat with Erik until Jason returned and they were ready to part ways.

Erik, as always, left time and space for Charles to lead the way to the elevator. Jason trailed after him, still looking rapturously at Erik.

"Are you coming to the Student Center for the Age of X show tonight?" Erik asked as the three of them loaded into the elevator for the short ride up to the ground level.

"I told you last night, they're not entirely my style," Charles said. Erik's style, as far as Charles could tell, was any and every mutant band, the newer and more obscure, the better.

" _I_ love them," Jason said, ostensibly to Erik. "I'll definitely be there."

Erik ignored him.

"You should come," Erik said. "They're great. I'll send you some of their stuff."

About a week ago, Erik showed up at Charles' room with a thumb drive full of what he called the essential mutant albums of the past three decades. Charles was definitely going to listen to them eventually.

"We'll see," Charles said. On the ground floor, Charles led the way towards the front entrance, Erik walking next to him just like he always did. Jason was somewhere behind them. 

"I'll text you after class," Erik said, and Charles couldn't help but laugh and shake his head.

"Fine, fine, do what you'd like," he said. "I'm headed to the library before my afternoon class. I'll see you later."

"See you," Erik said. He headed off to his class, Jason trailing behind him still. Jason didn't even acknowledge Charles, but then, Erik still hadn't really acknowledged Jason.

The whole thing was very weird. 

Charles ended up skipping the show that night to watch _Blazing Saddles_ in the dorm lounge with two of the other kids on his floor, Hank and Ororo, instead, but Erik came by his room later. It was late, and Charles was already in bed, reading on his laptop.

Erik didn't bother to knock—Charles had already figured out that he never did. He just let himself in, using his power to unlock the door.

"Oh, good, you're still awake!" Erik said. He sat down at the foot of Charles' bed, folding his long and lanky legs underneath him.

"What would you have done if I wasn't?" Charles said, curious. It seemed equally likely that Erik would have woken him up or just left. Or maybe just hung out there anyway, with Charles asleep.

Erik waved away the question like it was irrelevant. "The show was awesome, Charles, you really should have come. I missed you there."

The room was a little dim with just the lamp on, but not so dim Charles couldn't see the giant hickey blooming on Erik's neck, or the way his hair was mussed out of his normally perfect styling. Like someone had had his hands in it.

"Looks like you had someone else there to keep you busy, though," Charles said.

"Don't be dumb." Erik wrinkled his nose. "There's no comparison to having you around."

Warmth rose up in Charles' chest, and even up to his face a little. Erik seemed to have no problem saying things like that, and it wasn't that Charles was insecure, but...he didn't think he was going to get tired of hearing it, anyway.

"Tell me about Jason, though," Charles said. "You've never mentioned him before. I didn't even know you were interested in anybody."

"There's not much to tell," Erik said with a shrug. "He's in one of my classes. He's hot, he asked me out."

Erik looked so bored with the topic that it was all Charles could do not to gape at him. _Do you even like him?_ Charles thought, but he didn't quite know how to say it. That fear of seeming petty and jealous surfaced again, and he bit his lip.

Erik continued, "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about him. I came to get you to come out with me."

"I'm already in my pajamas!"

"Just throw on your sweater, nobody will care. The townies are used to it." Erik batted his eyelashes. Charles was perfectly aware he was doing it as a joke, but the rotten part was, it sort of worked anyway; Erik's eyes were pretty enough, his lashes long and thick and dark. "Come oooooon," Erik wheedled. "I'll buy you an order of curly fries?"

"Like you won't just end up eating them all," Charles replied, trying not to smile.

"Nah, I'm in the mood for a bacon cheeseburger. Just never tell my mom."

Erik jumped up off the bed, stretching his arms above his head for a moment and then bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"You have too much energy," Charles informed him, but he put his laptop aside and pushed the covers off anyway.

They didn't really talk about Jason again after that, but a week later he was gone like he'd never been there in the first place. After that there was Peter, who lasted a week and a half, and then Byron, who lasted almost two. 

Erik cycled through boyfriends like he cycled through favorite bands and the boxes of Pop-Tarts he kept stashed in his closet. Charles could hardly keep track of them, which led to more than one awkward hallway greeting that ended in embarrassing tears. The boys Erik dated were universally tall, skinny, mutant hipsters. They were nearly sycophantic in their desire to agree with everything Erik said about politics, music, and anything else that came out of his mouth. They stared at him in embarrassing adoration. 

Erik, on the other hand, barely acknowledged their existence. They would sit with Erik and Charles at meals, follow Erik to the activities he and Charles went to together, occasionally even to their study carrel at the library. Erik rolled his eyes when they spoke or ignored them completely. He didn't kiss them or touch them or in any way act like he was dating them. 

On one hand, there was no need to be jealous—Erik spent all day every day talking to Charles, hanging out with Charles, seeking Charles' opinion, telling Charles about his life. It was much more than he ever gave any of his legion of boys. On the other hand, Charles' feelings for Erik hadn't abated and the knowledge that Erik was sleeping with these guys—frequently, based on how often Erik went silent on text and showed up in Charles' room covered in hickeys—was a little disheartening. Part of Charles couldn't help but wonder how long it would take for Erik to realize that he was available and willing.

It might have continued for quite some time if it weren't for the Halloween party.

The Halloween party was in some upperclassman's on-campus apartment. The music was loud, the beer was flowing freely, and Charles was pleased to see he recognized at least a handful of people in the room and that they were eager to say hi and talk to him. He'd ensconced himself on the couch for the time being and was talking with a girl named Moira from one of his bio classes. Erik was somewhere getting more beer, but he'd been doing that for fifteen minutes and Charles had a feeling he had been distracted trying to recruit more people for the mutant group he still claimed he was going to start.

It was a good night. And it got better when Erik finally returned, drunker, carrying two more beers, and looking like he had something important to shout about.

"Excuse me," Charles managed to say to Moira before Erik plopped down on the couch and curled up half on top of Charles, passing him one of the beers.

"Everyone here is an idiot," Erik muttered. He headbutted Charles' shoulder. 

"I know," Charles said. "It's so very difficult being you."

"They're just so stupid," Erik said. He draped his arm around Charles' shoulder and leaned heavily against him. "They say they care about mutant rights, but does anyone have any opinions about local mutant legislation? No, of course no. No one has any idea what's even on the table this session, you know? Like that stupid education bill—"

"Excellent education bill," Charles said.

"—but instead of putting any effort into real work, everyone just wants to _talk_. Where's the _activism_? We should be _making things better_. We should be _out there_."

"I know, darling," Charles said. He did not point out that Erik wasn't out making things better, he was sitting on Charles' lap dozing off.

"You do," Erik agreed. "That's why you're my favorite. Well, one of the reasons."

"Feel free to share the others," Charles said.

Erik laughed, turning his head to rub his nose against the shoulder of Charles' sweater. His breath was hot and damp. "I like this sweater," Erik announced. "It's soft. And blue."

"It is indeed blue," Charles said. 

Out of the corner of his eye he could still make out Moira, and when he turned his head a little he could see her watching them with a curious expression on her face. Amused, maybe, or confused, or even....

No, it wasn't pity. Charles was almost sure of it. Just not sure enough to extend his telepathy out the tiny bit he would need to in order to know for certain. People couldn't just look at him and see it on his face.

The beer Erik had brought him was icy and slick with condensation. Charles chugged down a long, heavy swallow. 

"The worst part is," Erik was saying, gesticulating wildly with the hand holding his own beer, "is this is probably as engaged as they're going to get. If this is what they're like now, what about in twenty years? Fuck mutant rights, all they'll care about is their mortgages and voting for whoever promises not to raise taxes. Ugh." Erik blew out a disgusted breath. "Promise me you and I are never going to get jaded or boring or sell out like that."

"We'll stay young and perfect and pure of heart forever, I'm sure of it," Charles said. The odd thing was, as silly and ironic as he was being, with Erik snuggled in so close and affectionate like this, it almost felt like it could be true.

"Good," Erik said, sounding serious. "It's a deal."

Erik went quiet then, his breaths evening out—not asleep, but not completely awake, either. Charles pet his back in long strokes while he drank his beer and watched the other people at the party. There were so many different relationships and connections, so many emotions, so much _stuff_ going on; he couldn't help but be fascinated by it all. He didn't concentrate on any of it in particular, just let the general impressions of all those busy minds wash over him.

At some point, somebody changed the music to a different record, something loud and pulsing and sexy. Erik stirred again as it came on. 

"Is this Omega Level? I love them." Erik rose from his perch on Charles' lap, unsteady on his feet for a few seconds before he got himself together. "Where the fuck is my stupid boyfriend, I want to dance." He glanced around, looking vaguely annoyed, before focusing in on a group in the corner.

Charles watched as Erik weaved through the crowded room, disappearing for a moment into the masses before reappearing, pulling his latest boy along with a hand on his wrist until they got to the center of the room, and he turned and tugged the boy in close, body to body, hands tight on his hips.

If watching Erik dance had been irresistible that first night, Charles realized, it was unbearable now. He wasn't completely sure where the line between dancing and foreplay was, but he couldn't imagine what they were doing on the floor now was much shy: the way they ground against each other, the way Erik was mouthing at his boyfriend's neck and squeezing his ass, the way Erik's tight jeans made it totally obvious he had an erection.

It was ridiculously arousing—it would probably fuel Charles' fantasies for months—but it made him feel sick at the same time.

Even if Erik did like him as more than a friend, Charles suddenly realized, he'd never be able to dance with Erik like that. 

He watched them for another few moments. He was tipsy enough that he could feel himself teetering on the edge of being a terrible mopey drunk about the whole thing. For a moment, he saw four years of increasingly depressing parties where Erik continued to cycle through the tall, skinny, available hipster mutant boys and Charles watched him dance with all of them from the sidelines, sadly pining away.

He couldn't let himself become that. He couldn't. He may have been in love with Erik, but that was no reason to spend his life pathetically mooning after him.

He looked away from the impromptu dance floor, determinedly focusing instead on the Mario Kart game going on the other side of the room. He had a choice to make. He could accept the fact that Erik cared about him more than any of his boyfriends, that Erik told him everything and gave him everything and needed him for everything. He could accept the fact that Erik looked to the future and saw them still together, best friends, still in contact, still close. He could accept all of that and know that Erik would probably never realize that Charles was a romantic option and have it be enough. Or he could stay pining pathetically and never move forward.

It wasn't a hard choice, not really.

He twisted away from the Mario Kart game and took another drink of his beer. Moira was still sitting on the other end of the couch. Moira was smart and sarcastic and pretty. She was a baseline human, but Charles didn't care about that the way Erik did. Most of all, she had been flirting with him on and off for a week or so.

"Sorry about the interruption," he said to Moira, loud enough to recapture her attention. She slid further down the couch with the same confused/amused expression on her face as before. "He does that."

"Passes out on top of you ranting about mutant activism and then humps a stranger on the dance floor?" Moira asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Something like that," Charles allowed. "Although, lest your opinion of him be dire, it's not a stranger he's dancing with, it's his boyfriend."

Moira's other eyebrow joined the first.

"His boyfriend," she said. Charles nodded. "So you and him...?"

"Oh god, no," Charles said. "Erik's type is tall, willowy, hip, and sycophantic. I don't worship him enough to put up with dating him. We're merely platonically codependent."

That made Moira laugh.

"Good to know," she said, with a smile that held a promise. Charles found he was eager to know what that promise was, and something inside of him finally relaxed. He could love Erik and pursue other people. He _was_ in love with Erik and was eager to pursue Moira, even. 

This was going to be fine. He and Erik and their future—it was going to be just fine.


	4. now

The problem with having Charles problems is that Erik only ever talks to Charles about...anything. He realized over the summer that he's told Charles more about his private thoughts—about Shaw and his family and growing up and fitting into his skin—than he even told the therapist his parents made him go to after Shaw went to prison. Charles has a way of making all of Erik's problems clearer and easier to pick apart. Sometimes, Charles doesn't even say anything—he just sits there and lets Erik talk until things start to make sense.

He can't do that now. Even he's smart enough to realize that, and Erik is pretty stupid about feelings and people sometimes, he knows. He can't sit in Charles' room and say, "I think I'm in love with you but it's hard to be sure because I love you _so much_ that it's hard to tell when and if it crosses the line into, like, boyfriend love, and even if it does (and I'm 90% sure it does and probably has for a long time and I'm just an idiot), how do I know if you like me and once I know you like me, how do I tell you that I think we should go out and what do I do if you say no?" 

Unfortunately, there's no one else Erik can think of whom he can say those things to, if Charles is out of the picture.

He doesn't want Charles to figure out what's going on, but their schedules are just different enough this semester that Erik can still spend some time alone, thinking, without raising Charles' suspicions. He _does_ raise his roommate's suspicions, though. Tom starts to look at him funny after the third straight day that Erik spends an hour or so of downtime lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, but Erik ignores him. He and Charles have been friends for almost two years now. They do everything together. There's a lot to think about if he wants to sort this out.

Even with all that history, though, there's one memory he keeps turning over in his head. Last semester, Erik had been dating some random guy from his "Mutants and the American Legal System" class. Randall. He was...well, he was the same as every idiot Erik dated, completely unremarkable up until the afternoon that Erik keeps thinking about. 

They had been making out in this very room. Tom was in class, Charles was in class, and Erik figured, as always, the best way to fill Charles-less time was with sex. They hadn't gotten quite that far yet—they were still kissing and Erik was pausing every few seconds to answer texts from Charles before his class began. He was seriously going to put his phone down any minute and get to the good stuff, but then Randall said, "I don't know why you spend so much time with that guy."

And Erik had looked at him like he had three heads, because Charles was _Charles_ and it was impossible for Erik to see how anyone could question wanting to spend time with him.

"It's just, I mean, mutant power and all, right?"

"Charles is a mutant," Erik said flatly.

"But he's like...in a wheelchair," Randall said. There was a moment then, between that and the next words out of his mouth, when Erik was honestly confused. It seemed like a non sequitur. "And, you know, we're the superior race, right? And how superior can he be if he can't walk?"

For a moment, Erik was frozen. He wasn't even angry—he was feeling too many things at once to focus on any of them, completely overwhelmed by shock. There were no words, not even any thoughts in his mind. Randall didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, taking the phone from Erik's hand and putting it on the nightstand, clearly ready to get to business.

"Get out of here," Erik finally managed to say. He was dead calm, despite the inferno building up inside of him.

"What?" Randall asked. He leaned in for a kiss, all flirty smiles. Erik held up a hand to push him back.

"Get the fuck out of here!" Erik snapped.

"What?" Randall asked again, sitting up and hesitating. He was clearly confused, but Erik didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Or, no, he cared about one thing, wholly and completely. No one talked shit about Charles, not in front of him.

"Get the fuck out of my room!" Erik shouted. He shoved Randall again, and Randall stumbled off the bed and to his feet, nearly tripping. Erik could feel all the loose metal around him hovering above its surface. He could feel electricity crackling around him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. The coins in his pocket melted together. His desk chair snapped in two pieces.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Randall said. He was cowering, stumbling towards the door, groping for his shirt and shoes and bag in a room that was quickly filling with hovering metal objects.

"Don't you fucking _ever_ talk about him like that again, you _peon_!" Erik bellowed. "You don't fucking deserve to fucking say his name. Do you understand that Charles Xavier could strip you from yourself, could erase who you are? He could fucking _turn you off_ , you rat's asshole, and if I ever hear you talking about him like that again, I will pull you apart bit by bit with the iron in your own fucking blood, you pile of shit!"

"You're fucking _crazy_!" Randall spat. He apparently decided that shoes and bag were good enough. He dropped his shirt and stumbled from the room and into the hallway. "You're a fucking _psycho_!"

"One fucking word against him and I will ruin you!" Erik shouted after him. His hands were shaking. He felt like he was going to burst open, his whole body hot and vibrating with the anger flowing through him. He hadn't felt like that in years, since—since Shaw. He could barely contain it—it took him twenty minutes to get the metal in the room settled into place and another twenty to get himself together enough to go find Charles. 

Charles was in class, though—that was how the whole thing started. So he let himself into Charles' room to wait. He paced the length back and forth, replying his conversation with Randall and imagining the conversation he was going to have with Charles once class let out. He was going to rip Randall a new one all over again. He was going to tell Charles all of it, what garbage Randall was, how Erik hadn't realized or he'd never have gone out with him, no matter how hot he was. He was going to put words to this feeling inside of him, the one that made him feel jumpy and sick. He loved Charles. He loved Charles and everyone should love Charles and....

It was too much, too big to think about all at once. Whenever he tried to pull apart all the strands of it, all the feelings, he got overwhelmed with his own anger again. He paced himself into a frenzy, playing and replaying the conversation right until Charles rolled in, breathless and flushed. 

"Erik?" he asked once he was in the room fully, door closed. "Is everything okay? I could feel you from across campus, you're a wreck. Are you hurt?"

And all at once, it had flowed out of him. Erik was speechless and suddenly exhausted. He just wanted to curl up and sleep, to brood silently. He wanted to look at Charles and see how perfect he was and not have to think about anyone who felt differently.

"This guy—Randall—the guy I was....he was...uh, he was...mean to you," Erik said. He felt stupid. "I—I dumped him, but I was...I was angry. I was angry that he could think you were...not good enough."

Charles had relaxed, his expression complicated and untranslatable as he moved closer to Erik.

"I appreciate you standing up for my honor," Charles said dryly. "I appreciate you. You don't have to—"

"I do," Erik said fiercely and quickly enough that Charles startled. "I do."

"Okay," Charles said. He paused and then smiled almost shyly. "Thanks."

It was so much at the time. Erik spent a long time in therapy trying to work on his anger stuff after Shaw and as annoying as the therapist was, she did a pretty good job. He's not the way he used to be. He doesn't accidentally destroy property when he gets bad news any longer. But that afternoon he was so mad and this afternoon, these afternoons, this long week has brought the memory of that anger back to him again and again.

The more he thinks about it, the more he interrogates it, the more he wonders why he reacted that way. He was so mad at Randall for not seeing Charles as the beautiful and perfect and wonderful person that he was to Erik. He was angry that Randall didn't see how Charles could be desirable. 

Because—of course Charles is desirable. That's not even a question. It shouldn't be.

It wasn't just that someone insulted someone he loves. It wasn't just being protective of his friend. It was more than that, wasn't it?

Erik's memorized every single crack and spot on their ceiling. 

"Did you and Charles have a fight?" Tom finally asks on the fourth day, spinning around in his desk chair. 

"What?" Erik says, sitting up suddenly. "No, of course not. Why would you even say that?"

"I don't know. You're just been a little weird."

"Charles is fine," Erik says. "Charles is _great_. Everything is great."

Tom has a weird expression on his face. "Okay. Cool."

He waits a second longer, and then says, "Uh, I don't know if you know, but this is when Sharon and I usually do our Skype call. You're not usually here right now, so..."

Erik's not good at taking hints—Charles has told him that enough times—but even he can pick that one up. He could ignore it anyway, but the idea of being in the room while Tom and his girlfriend make moon-eyes and simper at each other sounds terrible enough to get Erik off his bed and out the door.

He's halfway to Charles' room before he even realizes that's where he's heading, feet on autopilot to the place he goes the most.

Charles' room is locked, but Erik's never let that stop him before, so he won't let it now. He lets himself in, and his mouth is open to greet Charles when he freezes, a step into the room.

He had thought Charles was probably studying, or maybe surfing the internet, or reading, or any of the sort of things Charles is usually doing when Erik comes to hang out with him. It hadn't crossed his mind that Charles might be working out, but that's exactly what he's doing—he's in his wheelchair, shirtless and shiny with sweat, doing dumbbell curls, and _holy shit_ , have Charles' arms always looked like that? 

Erik's staring, he realizes. That's creepy. Charles is looking at him expectantly, like he's waiting for Erik to say something and not just stand there like an idiot after barging into the room.

Erik clears his throat, trying to think of something to say, but it's like he can actually feel his brain fizzling. "I just—uh, I was—you're, um—wow, do you need....a towel?"

Charles blinks at him. "No," he says patiently. "I'm fine. I thought maybe _you_ needed something."

"Nope," Erik says, shaking his head, maybe a little too vehemently. "I'm good."

Charles looks at him a moment longer and Erik gazes back.

"Well, if you're going to stay, you can shut the door...?" Charles ventures.

"Right," Erik says quickly. He waves his hand, pushing the latch shut behind him, and sits down on Charles' bed.

Charles finishes his reps a couple minutes later, and they end up playing chess for most of the afternoon, but the incident gives Erik another thing to turn around in his head over and over again.

It clarifies some things, he thinks. That split second when he first came in, it was like Charles was just a really, really hot guy that Erik had seen—except, of course, he's _not_. Because Charles is Charles, so he's everything wonderful about Charles, too. He's all that stuff at once.

So he likes Charles. Okay. That's something. And what he needs to do next, then, is figure out what Charles feels. Charles is always ragging on him for spinning off on his theories without enough data, so—what data does he have? 

That Charles thinks he's a ten. But that could just be something objective, right? You can acknowledge attractiveness without actually wanting to do anything with a person. Erik's known he was gay forever, but that doesn't mean he can't tell when a girl is hot. 

Or what if Charles is just using a really permissive scale? Maybe Charles thinks lots of people are tens. 

That has to be his point of research. It'll be easy. He can just subtly ask Charles how he rates a bunch of people, compare it to how Erik would rate them himself, and figure out what Erik's ten really means. If Charles says everyone is a ten, he's back to square one, but if it turns out his ten holds weight...well, Erik can move onto the next step.

Whatever that is. One thing at a time.


	5. then

Moira was studying Molecular Biology, but she was thinking of switching over to Mutant Evolution and Genetics. She had an endless supply of dirty biology jokes and she knew every word to every pop song that came on the radio when they drove out to the diner at night. She played softball and wore shirtdresses with a lot of buttons that Charles sometimes fantasized about undoing. He definitely fell a little bit in love with her.

He probably would have fallen head-over-heels if it wasn't for Erik, but that was okay. He was eighteen—a little bit in love was more than good enough.

For the first few weeks after the Halloween party, they mostly just flirted. Moira started to eat a few meals a week with him and Erik and was mostly unfazed by the way Erik would pick up conversations three days later out of the blue or steal Charles' food or assume that all of Charles' time would be dedicated to him. He could tell she thought their relationship was weird, mostly because she told him. More than once.

"He's kind of a psycho," she said to Charles one night when they were alone in the back booth at the coffeeshop during open mic. They were pressed up against each other and sharing a brownie. Charles was thinking mostly that if he kissed Moira now, she'd taste like chocolate.

"He is," Charles agreed. "But he's my best friend. It's hard to explain."

"Oh no," she said. "I totally get it. I see how you are together. He'd take a bullet for you. You're completely obsessed with each other. Which is, you know, cool. I wish I had someone I was that close to. I'm just saying, he's kind of a psycho."

"You're not wrong," Charles said, and slowly slid his hand across the table until he could tangle their fingers together next to the brownie plate.

Moira was staying on campus for Thanksgiving—her family was in California, and she couldn't afford to fly home for a few days when she'd be going home for Christmas in a month anyway. 

"It's fine," she told Charles when he expressed sympathy. "There's a bunch of us long-distance orphans, so one of the RAs is organizing a thing for us all to eat together, maybe play board games and stuff. It sounds like fun. Plus, it'll be a good chance to get ahead on some of my work with finals coming up so soon."

When she put it like that, Charles was almost jealous. He wasn't looking forward to going home for the holiday; four days stuck in a house with Mother and Kurt and Cain sounded absolutely vile. It was tempting to just lie, say he had too much work and stay on campus himself. But he couldn't do that to Raven, and not just because she would kill him for it.

And actually, it wasn't as bad as Charles feared. Cain didn't show up after all—Charles didn't bother to inquire why, just counted himself lucky—and aside from the actual meal itself, the catered spread in the formal dining room, he barely saw Mother and Kurt. 

Seeing Raven again was wonderful. Charles had been so busy the past few months that he hadn't really had time to miss her, but as soon as he got home he gave her a hug that lasted until she started to squirm and complain about how she needed to breathe.

They watched TV in the den, the worst reality shows they could find on Netflix, while Raven chatted to him about high school and drama club and how she was considering applying to Claremont and everything and everyone annoying her at the moment.

"Tell me about Erik," Raven demanded, after the tenth or twelfth time their conversation was interrupted with the buzz of Charles' phone signaling a new text.

"Well, apparently at the moment, he's mocking his sister for being too overinvested in football," Charles said, scanning the message. The idea of Erik mocking someone else for being overinvested in anything was hilarious.

"It seems like every time I talk to you you're hanging out with him," Raven said. 

"I probably am," Charles admitted. "You'd like him, though, I think." Raven would probably love one of Erik's imaginary pamphlets, for that matter—she had some of the same bad habits as Erik, accusing Charles of thinking too much, like it was better rushing into things half-cocked. 

Raven grinned at him. "I'm glad you're making friends. Look at you, growing up so fast." She reached out and pinched his cheeks, and he laughed as he swatted her away.

The first snowfall had happened over the weekend, and the campus looked completely different when Charles got back. The ice and snow on the paths was a pain for his wheelchair, and he knew within a few weeks he would be totally and completely sick of the winter, but right now it was still enchanting and magical.

Erik came back with his car stuffed full of leftovers and more clothes. He brought Charles some Tupperware bulging with stuffing and sweet potatoes, and a full apple pie, and it was all almost good enough to justify Erik's continued insistence that his mother was the world's best cook. He brought a hat, too, and some fingerless gloves, knitted up in fine soft yarn. 

"I made Ruth make you some, too," Erik explained, "so you won't have to steal mine anymore."

The reason Charles stole Erik's knitwear had more to do with it being Erik's than anything else, but it was a touching gesture, anyway.

Charles wore the hat and gloves all day on Monday. He thought about Erik and about Erik asking his sister to make a gift just for Charles. He thought about the non-stop texting over the holiday weekend.

He would always be a part of Erik's life. Erik was family, and it was time to stop dragging his feet and really move on.

"I think we should go out," Charles said that afternoon, as he and Moira left class together.

Moira looked down at him. Her cheeks were rosy from the chill, and her eyes bright, and she was smiling. 

"I think we should, too," she said.

Charles smiled back at her, reaching out to take her hand in his. Even through their gloves, they seemed to fit together. 

"Come here," he said, tugging gently, and Moira leaned over and they kissed, gently, for the first time.

Dating Moira was—well, it was fun. Moira was fun, she encouraged him to go out and have fun, and he was surprised to find that dating her definitely softened the pang he felt the few times Erik deigned to be seen showing affection for his hipster du jour in public. He liked Moira—they could talk for hours and she was refreshingly blunt and upfront when it came to his paralysis. Charles' experience with sex was limited to his high school girlfriend, his solo experimentation, and an avid fantasy life populated by an ever rotating cast of crushes. Things weren't complicated so much as different, but different meant explanations and talking about sex was difficult with people he wasn't comfortable around. 

He was comfortable around Moira. It was easy to tell Moira what he needed and where she should move and put her hands and mouth. She asked the right questions. She laughed when it got absurd. She laughed a lot, actually, and Charles laughed too.

It was going well. It would have been going better if they weren't cramming for finals and trying to fit in various end of the semester administrivia and gatherings.

It would have been going better if Erik wasn't so clueless.

Mind, Erik wasn't actively trying to get in the way of his relationship with Moira, but he definitely wasn't used to Charles spending with anyone but him. Mostly, he wasn't used to Charles making plans that didn't involve him.

"So, I'll text you after I get back from class and we'll figure out when we can go to the show," Erik said as lunch wound down.

"I don't know if I can go out with you tonight," Charles reminded him for the dozenth time. "I'm going out with Moira to the diner."

"Oh," Erik said. "What time are we going?"

"You're not coming, it's a date," Charles said.

"Oh, right," Erik said. 

It was not the first time they had a conversation like that. It wouldn't be the last.

"We could make it a double date sometime," Moira suggested, the next time it happened, at dinner a few nights before the end of the semester. She caught Charles' eye and shot him a sly grin; Charles had to bite his lip to keep from smirking. "Me and Charles, you and Bennet."

Erik, of course, didn't see the humor in Moira's tone. He stared at her blankly. "What? No."

Next to him, Bennet, who had perked up eagerly for a few seconds, slumped with a sigh, running his fork glumly through the mashed potatoes still on his plate. 

Charles felt bad for Erik's boyfriends, he did, but...well, probably not as bad as he would have felt if any of them were ever particularly nice to him. Or seemed to have any personality of their own, really.

It might take some time, but Charles had to trust that eventually Erik would figure out that Charles' approach to dating was different than his. He liked Moira, and she was going to be sticking around. Erik would have to adjust.

It would have to wait until next year, though. With his last final over, it was winter break—weeks of no classes, Moira across the country, and Erik hours and hours away.

Still, Charles was optimistic. The next semester was going to be even better than this one.


	6. now

Erik gives a lot of thought to how to bring up the topic so it seems natural and organic and not super weird. Instead of actually using any of his carefully prepared segues, though, what ends up happening is that the next time he and Charles are in the library, Erik waits until Charles has gotten absorbed in the book in front of him and then blurts out, "So how hot do you think Janos is?"

He thinks he manages to get it out in a pretty casual tone, at least.

"Hm?" Charles murmurs absently. After a second the penny seems to drop, though, and his head shoots up, eyes wide. "Oh god, please tell me we're not back on this again."

"This?" Erik says. Something's churning awkwardly in his stomach.

"The Janos thing," Charles says, waving a hand. "I don't think I can take it again, Erik, I really don't. If you actually liked him it would be one thing, but this is just stupid."

Relief washes over Erik. "Oh, no, I didn't mean—no, I'm over him, don't worry about it. I just meant...like, in general. Like on that one to ten scale like before. I just thought it would be interesting."

"You mean you want to make sure you're still the fairest of them all," Charles says, somewhat dismissively. Erik is _slightly_ hurt by how quickly Charles jumps to that conclusion, but it's better than the alternative—Charles seeing immediately through his plan, laughing in his face, then rejecting him. "Janos gets extra points for having a personality, so I'll give him a seven or a seven and a half."

"Really?" Erik asks. Even by his own standards, Janos was pretty fucking hot.

"Mmhm," Charles says, already absorbed in his book again. Erik doodles in his open notebook, pretending to take notes as he examines his two data points. Janos is, objectively, one of the most attractive guys Erik has gone out with. If he's not even an eight and Erik is actually a ten, then that probably means something. If Charles was being serious but didn't like him like that, he wouldn't inflate Erik's number just to soothe his ego—the opposite was more likely. 

He needs more data. He definitely needs more data.

He spends the next week trying to collect data. He keeps it as casual as he can manage, but he's not so good at subtle. Charles, at least, seems to think it's some kind of ridiculous experiment and tolerates the questions.

"What about Armando?" Erik asks at breakfast the next day, while Armando is moving through the dining hall line across the room. Erik never dated Armando, but Erik would objectively say that he was the hottest of their friends, outside of Charles. "Scale of one to ten."

"Armando?" Charles asks, still bleary before his morning coffee kicks in. "Uh, nine, I think."

That's...higher than Erik expected. Hopefully Armando stays fixated on that annoying blond freshman and doesn't get any ideas about Charles before Erik figures out his plan of attack.

While they cross the quad to get to the parking lot on their way to the grocery store the next day, Erik nods at one of his exes.

"What about, uh...him," Erik asks. "The one, uh, last year, spring semester, with the weird name—"

"Telford?" Charles asks. "You know, I think I'm very polite in not commenting on your choices of romantic partners and the frequency with which you tire of them, but if you literally _can't remember their names_ —"

"One to ten," Erik says.

"Six," Charles says promptly.

That seems a little harsh, but Erik rolls with it and promptly changes the subject to their shopping list, which mostly consists of chips, dips, and things to make jello shots.

Two days later, they're curled up, sleepy and drunk, in the lounge for an impromptu video game tournament. Charles had immediately laid his head on Erik's shoulder, which is 100% normal for their interactions and still manages to make Erik's pulse speed up. Erik always gets a little hornier when he's drunk or high, so between the beer and his two weeks of celibacy, the impulse to put his mouth on Charles' bared throat is not insignificant. 

He resists. He has a plan, sort of. He needs more data.

Hank is currently kicking Armando's boyfriend's ass at Halo. Charles and Hank dated for a little while at the beginning of the year, and it occurs to Erik that Hank and Moira would be excellent data points for his experiment.

He scratches his fingers through Charles' hair to get his attention. Just to get his attention. It has nothing to do with the happy little noise Charles makes against Erik's shoulder.

"What about Hank?" he asks Charles. "One to ten."

Charles hums and looks at Hank with sleepy eyes for a moment.

"Hank's very much my type," he tells Erik. He tilts his head so he can look up at Erik and Erik reminds himself again that he has a _plan_ that does not involve jumping Charles on a couch in the student lounge with all their friends watching. "Probably a nine? Personality-wise, I think we work better as friends, which takes his hotness down a point, I think."

Hank is so...awkward. Erik looks at him again, critically. Really? That's what Charles is into? Tall, skinny, nerdy, dark-haired, mutant dudes?

Okay, okay, wow. Maybe Erik doesn't have as much of a problem with Charles' type as he thought. And, if Hank lost a point because they were better friends than boyfriends, what does that say about Erik's perfect ten?

In addition to Hank, Charles had a boyfriend and a girlfriend in high school and a girlfriend at nerd camp last summer, but Erik never met any of them. The one other person who Charles has dated that Erik _does_ know is Moira. They went out for most of freshman year and Moira is still Charles' best-friend-who-isn't-Erik. 

"What about Moira?" he asks.

"Moira?" Charles parrots. "Moira is definitely a ten. She's beautiful."

He knows better than to point out she's a human. He's gotten that lecture enough times. Instead, he says, "Then why did you two break up?"

Charles shrugs and burrows further against Erik around a yawn. 

"We had fun. We clicked. We weren't precisely in love, though. We both knew it would never work out long term, and eventually it made more sense to just be friends," Charles says.

"Oh," Erik says. That sounds absolutely unlike anything Erik has ever experienced with a boyfriend, even his high school boyfriend. Charles' whole approach to dating is different than Erik's—as far as Erik knows, Charles is still friends with everyone he's ever dated. Like, good friends. Sometimes he still texts his high school girlfriend and talks on GChat with the girl he dated for like, a month in the summer. It's weird.

He thought it was weird then, too, when Charles broke up with Moira. She disappeared for a few weeks—she was still around for lunch and stuff, but skipped mall trips and a couple other things—and then she was back and she and Charles acted almost exactly as they had before, except without the kissing. She even teased Charles about Hank when Charles and Hank started dating and Charles acted like it was no big deal.

Erik can sort of understand why she gets a ten, though. He's never been attracted to women, but he can tell when someone is beautiful, and Moira is gorgeous. She's kind of funny, too—sarcastic and mean—and she doesn't take anyone's shit. Erik doesn't have many baseline friends—he doesn't see the point—and he wouldn't say he and Moira are friends, exactly, but...he respects her. And she seems to respect him. A few weeks ago, when Charles was sick in bed for a few days, Erik...maybe lost his shit entirely. He was afraid to leave Charles alone, panicked and a little frightened, calling his mom every day for advice. It was so stupid—Charles had a cold and he was _fine_ after like, four days in bed, but Erik was terrified it was more, worse, that something was wrong with Charles and there was nothing he could do. Moira came by around the third day and dragged him out of the room and made him take a shower and change his clothes. She promised to stay by Charles in case anything happened, and to call him if Charles woke up. In retrospect, it was really cool of her. At the time, he resented her for forcing him away from Charles when Charles might have needed him.

He thinks, for a moment, about the relief he felt on the last day of Charles' illness, how it was like all the fear leaked out of him and was replaced by exhaustion. How he was too tired to think about why he was so scared. How he had climbed into bed with Charles to watch _Ghostbusters_ and held onto him until everything inside of him had settled, confident that Charles was finally okay again.

He remembers how Charles' hair smelled after his shower, the first in days. He remembers thinking about how good it smelled, how soft and clean his hair and skin felt under Erik's hands.

Erik...maybe should have realized how in love with Charles he was a little sooner.

Having gathered all the available data on Charles' exes, Erik spends the next week single-mindedly going through all of his own. At least, the ones he remembers. He forgets about trying to be subtle and focuses on remembering their names well enough to get Charles' input.

Charles starts out vaguely amused at lunch on Monday, but by Thursday at dinner, he's beginning to look mutinous. 

Possibly, it could be because Erik's dated a lot more guys than he ever sat down and thought about. It's been a busy week.

It's Byron who's raising Charles' ire. Erik hasn't even said anything yet—but he does remember Byron's name and he and Charles definitely spotted Byron and his long white hair and thick black-framed glasses waiting on line for pizza.

"What about," Erik starts to ask once they settle into a table, but Charles cuts him off.

"Byron is a six! Aside from Janos, you've never dated anyone higher than a six, because you date an indistinguishable string of generically attractive hipster boys who have no personality besides worshipping you!" Charles snaps.

Erik's first impulse is to get defensive and snap right back at him—not because he cares about Byron, or any of the other guys, but because it somehow sounds like Charles is insulting _him_. He manages to bite back the response that immediately rises to his lips ( _I would never date a six_ ) but just barely, and only because he's pretty startled, too. He's seen Charles pissed off a million times by now, but not really...well, bitchy. Kind of mean. Even to people he doesn't like.

And it's not like Erik can argue with Charles' reasoning, even if he disagrees with his conclusion. But that's kind of the point. Why would he date any of them if they weren't super hot and good in bed? It's not as if they have much else to offer. It's not as if he likes them.

It sounds fucked up when he thinks about it like that, but Erik doesn't think it is, not really. There's nothing wrong with just going out with guys he likes having sex with. And it's not like he needs them for anything else, because...

Because...

Because he's always had Charles for the rest, hasn't he? All those other things people talk about when they talk about their significant others, that Erik's never had with a romantic partner—that's all Charles. He's everything to Erik and he has been since they met, and the idea of somebody else even coming close to any of that is unimaginable. 

"Do you ever think I'm an idiot?" Erik says, frowning down at his pizza.

He looks up when Charles takes a little too long to answer. 

"I think that you're my best friend and I love you," Charles says, so obviously diplomatic that Erik has to laugh despite everything.

"I don't feel like going out with the others tonight," Erik says. "Let's just stay in and watch something in your room instead."

"Okay," Charles says, smiling easily. Erik's stomach rolls over just looking at it. Charles is everything. Charles has always been everything. Erik doesn't understand how he could have been so stupid to not realize he could _really_ be everything before this week.

Not any longer. He knows, now, and he's going to do something about it. Just as soon as he figures out what, exactly, to do.


	7. then

Winter break was immeasurably long. Cain was home for half of it, and it was only by virtue of the house being as large as it was that Charles and Raven were able to escape the window-shaking shouting matches in Kurt's study. Christmas was the depressing affair it normally was and the New Year's party at Gabrielle's house was slightly awkward now that he and Gabrielle weren't dating and their new significant others were hundreds of miles away.

Sure, he texted Moira on and off and Erik nearly constantly, but it wasn't the same. It got particularly bad once Raven was back in school and Charles was left with hours and hours to kill in the house on his own all day. Erik was apparently picking up some shifts filing at the dentist office where his mother worked, but that didn't keep him from being around for long phone calls where they talked about everything and nothing, and extended text conversations when he couldn't be on the phone. It was torture. Charles was counting down the days until the long drive back to campus, until he could actually see his friends again and pick up his life.

He managed to make it back onto campus four days before it officially opened again by being very vague about his "accessibility needs." He was still alone, but at least his anxiety had ebbed. It even enabled Erik to come up the night before campus was open, sneaking his two suitcases and endless tupperware containers of food into Charles' room along with a bedroll and a pillow.

"I keep falling asleep in here and the floor is uncomfortable as fuck," Erik explained as he settled onto the bed next to Charles with a tin of meringues once his car was unpacked. "If I'm gonna be staying tonight and probably, like, over and over again this semester whenever Tom's being a tool, better to not sleep on the floor."

Erik did occasionally sleep in Charles' bed when he crashed for the night, but it was never on purpose. For the sake of Charles' back, he normally had to sleep in certain positions with various pillows and he usually had to wake up during the night to adjust. In his bed at home, it wasn't a problem, but in a standard issue extra-long twin, there just wasn't enough room, as much as Charles would love the excuse to curl up with Erik on a regular basis. As with most aspects of Charles' disability that he encountered, Erik had no problem rolling with it, no questions asked, even if, in this case, Charles wished he had put up a little more of a fight.

They stayed up late, watching Charles' Monty Python DVDs and gorging themselves on the endless parade of sweets Mrs. Lehnsherr had sent Erik home with until their stomachs ached. Erik finally moved to the floor when Charles started to drift off on his shoulder.

Strangely, though, once the lights were off and they were both settled in, Charles didn't fall asleep right away. He could hear Erik's even breaths, comforting in the quiet room, but even more he could sense the whirl of Erik's mind working. Erik wasn't anywhere near sleep either.

"Can I tell you something?" Erik said, after a few minutes.

Charles opened his eyes, blinking blurrily. "Of course. Always."

There was a long pause, though, long enough that Charles thought maybe Erik wouldn't say anything at all, long enough that if he didn't know better he would have thought Erik had fallen asleep after all.

Finally, Erik said, quiet enough that Charles could barely hear him, "Do you ever have bad dreams?"

"Yeah. Sometimes."

He could hear Erik sigh. Charles wished he could see Erik's face, except he wasn't sure Erik would be talking at all if he was being watched.

"I don't have them very often," Erik continued, almost whispering. "But, I don't know. It's dumb. I should be over it. It was years ago."

"This is...about your counselor?" Charles asked hesitantly. Erik had said things, once or twice, hints more than anything else, just enough for Charles to know there was something there that Erik didn't talk about.

"Mr. Shaw. He was our school district's mutant support counselor. And—I'm really proud of my mutation, you know that, I think it's the best thing about me—"

"I know."

"—But it freaked me out a lot when I was first manifesting. I felt like I couldn't control it. And my mom and dad, they tried to help, but they didn't really understand, you know?" Another pause. Charles curled his fingers in his blanket. "And Shaw—he kind of took me under his wing, I guess. He was going to show me how to control it, how to--to master it. And at first I felt really special, like he'd picked me out of everybody, you know? He said I had a destiny. But then—"

Erik trailed off again. Almost without thinking about it, Charles held out his hand down the side of the bed, and Erik reached up and took it in his like he'd been waiting for it, squeezing so tightly it hurt a little.

"It was fucked up," Erik said. "It was really fucked up. I kept thinking it was my fault, that I was letting him down, that if I was better and more disciplined or something it wouldn't be happening. He kept saying he was just trying to unlock my true potential, but—I'd go home and look around the dinner table and just feel sick about what might happen to them if I didn't do better."

"Erik," Charles said.

"I'm mostly over it," Erik said. "I am. He's in prison now, you know, he'll be there forever. It's just sometimes, especially around my birthday for whatever reason...I don't know."

Erik sounded embarrassed, which made Charles feel sadder than almost any of it. When Erik started to pull his hand away, Charles didn't let him, clutching back just as tightly as Erik had before.

"Sometimes I have nightmares where I wake up and I'm still in the hospital," Charles said quickly. He didn't know he was going to say it until the words were spilling out of his mouth already. "After the accident. I'm there and I've just got out of surgery and Raven's crying and all the doctors are standing around whispering and nobody will tell me anything and—and in the dream I don't have my telepathy, nobody will talk to me and I can't read anything, but I know I'm just going to be there forever. I'm never getting out of that room."

"Charles," Erik whispered softly after a moment, and Charles swallowed against the rising lump in his throat.

"I just mean, I get it," Charles said quietly, still clutching Erik's hand, "I get it."

"I knew you would," Erik replied. "The worst part was that...he'd say those things and...sometimes it would help. Sometimes, they really would make me better or faster or...."

He trailed off again, stroking the back of Charles' knuckles absently. Charles breathed in and out in time with Erik, the room and the hall silent beyond those quiet exhalations. 

"I hate to think that...that any of me, anything I can do...I hate to think that any of it is because of him. I don't want him to have any credit. I hate knowing he did something good for me, along with all of the bad stuff."

"Erik," Charles murmured. He chose his words carefully. "You're amazing. And you would have been amazing with or without him. You would have unlocked anything he inadvertently unlocked given time, and even the things that you did figure out because of him? It was still you. It wasn't him. You were the one who reached within yourself and accessed that. You were the one who figured it out. He doesn't get any credit for that."

Erik let out a long breath and squeezed Charles' hand again.

"You're amazing," Charles repeated softly. "And I love you. And that has nothing to do with him."

"I love you too," Erik whispered. "You're my best friend. You're the best friend I've ever had. I'm so fucking glad you yelled at me that day."

"Me too," Charles said.

They eventually fell asleep that way; when Charles woke up the next morning his arm was still hanging off the side of the bed and entirely asleep. When Erik woke up, he immediately started bitching about how terrible the food at school was and how they should skip the dining hall and just eat more of his mom's food for as long as they could make it last. He didn't mention Shaw or anything they had talked about, so Charles took his lead and didn't mention it either. They wandered around the frosty, empty campus for a little while and eventually ended up back in Charles' room, watching movies until the first of their friends began to return.

Armando and Emma were the first to arrive and joined them for about half an hour of _Jurassic Park_ before Moira stuck her head in the room.

"Well, looks like it's time for us to head out," Emma said, rising from Charles' desk chair and brushing some invisible lint off her white dress.

"You don't have to," Moira said, but it was clear she didn't mean it, and Armando laughed as he slid off the bed. Erik didn't move, of course, because Erik continued to have the emotional intelligence of a head of cabbage.

"You too, man," Armando said, smacking his calf.

"Oh, really?" Erik asked, looking at Charles. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I'll text you before we head over to dinner," Charles promised him. Erik extricated his limbs from their sprawl over Charles and followed Armando and Emma out, waving as he went. Charles waved back, shaking his head.

Moira was wearing faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Charles suspected she'd probably selected her outfit for comfort in traveling, but she still looked jaw-droppingly pretty.

"Hey," Charles said. "How was your flight?"

Moira rolled her eyes. "Long," she grumbled good-naturedly as she settled in next to Charles.

Charles wrapped his arm around her shoulder and turned his head toward her. Their faces were very near to each other. For a split second, he felt suddenly awkward, being so close after weeks apart—but the corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smile, and the feeling faded as quickly as it came as he remembered just how much he liked her.

Moira snuggled in even closer to give him a soft, familiar kiss.

"I take it you missed me?" Charles said.

"Don't get a big head about it," Moira warned, and then she kissed him again.

For the most part Erik and Charles' classes didn't overlap much. Charles' focus lay mainly in the hard sciences, but Erik's major was multidisciplinary and broad. The requirements were mostly humanities, though there were a few science classes mixed in too. Charles couldn't help but think the whole thing a little imprecise.

"You don't have to sneer every time I say the word 'theory,'" Erik said once, when he was telling Charles about a paper he was working on.

"What?" Charles protested. "I don't!"

"You totally do." Erik threw a piece of popcorn at him across the lounge couch. "Snob."

"Whatever," Charles said. "I just prefer things you can actually test or measure. Not just, I don't know, talk about."

Erik threw another kernel, and the conversation derailed entirely for a few minutes.

Still, even if their interests diverged, they still had gen ed requirements to get through. This semester they'd arranged to take the college writing course together. Unfortunately, the only section that worked with both their schedules was first thing in the morning three days a week, including Mondays.

If Charles didn't already love Erik, he might have had to just because Erik never failed to bring along an extra thermos of coffee to hand to Charles when he wheeled into the classroom every time, barely awake.

"I love you, truly," Charles murmured on one such morning. Moira had stayed over far too late the night before and Charles' head was ringing with lack of sleep. He gulped the coffee, heedless of the temperature, and then rested his head on the desk. Erik reached over and scratched his fingers through the hair at the base of Charles' skull.

"You gotta wake up," Erik said. "I need you tonight."

Charles let himself linger on the image that popped into his brain upon hearing that for as long as it took their professor to call the class to attention. Then, telepathically, he asked, _What's tonight?_

College Writing was a blow-off class for anyone with half a brain. In theory, it was a course that taught students to write on a college level. In practice, it was a crash course in how to write basic types of papers for those who didn't learn in high school. Luckily, though Charles and Erik were stuck with the worst time slot, they ended up with an excellent professor who didn't care if they spent the whole class in their own little world, as long as they continued to get As on their weekly essays and didn't disrupt the rest of the class.

 _Tonight,_ Erik told him, still scratching the back of his head, _I have an appointment with the piercing parlor and you're coming with me._

Charles turned his head just enough to look at Erik, regretfully dislodging his hand. His ears already had multiple piercings, and based on the handful of high school photos that were up on Erik's Facebook, he had actually taken some out in the past six or eight months. 

_Piercing?_ Charles asked, raising his eyebrows.

Erik stuck out his tongue. Charles' eyes widened. 

_Are you insane?_ Charles asked. 

_It's going to be fucking awesome,_ Erik said. He waggled his eyebrows. Charles gave his best skeptical look. _My parents only let me get my ears pierced in high school. I always wanted my lip pierced, but I think this'll be better. I saved up all my birthday money._

Charles thought Erik had come back with slightly fewer new clothes than he expected after a month and a birthday out of Charles' sight.

_Are you sure this is sanitary?_

_I went with the place with the best Yelp reviews,_ Erik told him. _Five stars, all sorts of good reviews and like, official paperwork and shit. It's not like someone's doing it with an ice cube and a needle out back._

Charles couldn't help the full-body shudder that went through him at that. Oh god. Maybe this wasn't the greatest idea, after all. Just the thought of it was already making his skin crawl. He thought spending umpteen months in the hospital going through various medical procedures would have numbed him to this sort of squeamishness, but apparently not.

"It'll be fun," Erik whispered. "Come on. I don't want to do it with anyone else."

Charles let his head fall back down onto the desk. Goddamn Erik and his stupid attractive...face.

"Fine," Charles whispered back. Erik grinned with all his teeth and flashed Charles a thumbs up. He could already tell this was going to be a terrible idea.

They had breakfast after class and then parted ways for the rest of the day. Charles had lunch with Moira and filled her in on the plans for the evening, at which point she laughed at him for five full minutes.

"You can't even watch people get shots on television!" she cry-laughed, wiping tears away from her eyes. "Oh my god, I hope he takes pictures."

"I'll be fine," Charles insisted, but that just set her off again.

Erik picked Charles up in his room after dinner, smelling of mouthwash and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sure," Charles said weakly.

Erik spent the entire ride to town grinning and singing along to the music blaring out of his car's speakers. His excitement probably would have been contagious, Charles thought, if it was prompted by something other than getting big needles stuck in his flesh.

The piercing parlor itself was nice enough, nothing like the vaguely seedy pictures Charles' mind had conjured up from years of bad TV and movies. Erik's piercer was a cute girl with artificially red hair in a style Charles vaguely identified as punkish, a couple of visible tattoos, and plenty of her own piercings. Charles played Candy Crush on his phone while she and Erik chatted, going over everything in excruciating detail. Erik had done his research, and he had dozens of questions and opinions. He definitely wasn't rushing into anything, Charles had to admit that much.

That part was fine. The main event was something else. Charles braced himself, hands tight on the pushrims of his chair. Erik was perfectly calm and relaxed—he wasn't faking it, either, there was no hint of apprehension in his mind whatsoever. He was probably calmer than normal, actually, pleased and entertained by all the metal around him.

 _Calm down_ , Erik said mentally. _It's not a big deal._

Charles would have found that a little easier to take if there wasn't a forceps and—God, a really big needle involved.

 _Oh my god, Charles, just close your eyes_ , Erik continued, sounding more amused than Charles liked, but Charles took his advice anyway.

"It didn't even hurt!" Erik crowed on the way home. "This is going to be so awesome!"

The next day was a different story. Erik's tongue was swollen almost twice its normal size; he didn't stop bitching about the pain for days. 

Charles tried to be sympathetic the first time, but by the time the first few hours had passed he stopped bothering. "It's your own fault, you idiot," he told Erik at dinner that night.

Erik merely gave him the sad puppy dog eyes and nursed his milkshake.

"I can't drink, kiss, or give a blowjob for _weeks_ , either," Erik said. "I mean, it's worth it, but that's rough."

"Wow," Charles said, "I can imagine. What are you going to do with your time? Do you even have any other hobbies?"

Erik flipped him off.

It turned out the way Erik spent that time was hanging out with Charles even more than usual. Charles wasn't sure that was possible, but apparently it was. He could tell it was starting to frustrate Moira, too, but she didn't say anything about it.

Moira's patience wasn't unlimited, though, and eventually Erik reached the end of it.

She and Charles were making out in his room, on his bed. They weren't naked yet, but they were both in their underwear already, and Moira's bra was hanging off of the edge of Charles' desk chair. Kissing was distracting, and Moira's breasts were _really_ distracting, so there wasn't really room in Charles' mind to think about anything else. 

Which was why he didn't sense Erik approaching, like he normally would have. Not until Erik actually unlocked the door and stepped into the room, letting himself in just like he always did.

"What the fuck?" Moira yelled, reaching for Charles' sheet.

Erik stood very still, eyes wide and his face beet red like Charles had never seen it. After a couple of frozen seconds, he spun on his heel and bolted the room without a word. Moira scrambled off of Charles and pulled his shirt on, tightly crossing her arms against her chest.

"Does he not know how to fucking knock?" she asked, her ears pink with embarrassment, her expression mutinous.

"Not...really," Charles admitted. 

"Did you not fucking lock the door?" she asked.

"Uh, his mutation—locks don't really stop him. Not my locks, anyway," Charles said. He was sure he would be angry at Erik any moment, or embarrassed. For the moment, the whole thing just seemed...surreal.

"Jesus christ," Moira muttered, pacing in a tight circle next to Charles' bed. "Jesus fucking christ."

"It could have been worse," Charles said, despite knowing, somewhere in his soul, that was the absolute worst thing to say. "He's gay—at least he won't be getting off on it?"

"Yeah, not on me, at least," Moira muttered, and Charles felt himself flush as the embarrassment finally settled in. "I'm sorry, that was mean. That was—" She ran her hands through her hair and then sat back down on the edge of Charles' bed. "Look, you and him, I don't understand it and I normally don't really care. I don't know why you're not fucking, but whatever, as long as that continues, I really like you and going out with you is a lot of fun. But if he does that again, fuck fun, I will murder him with my bare hands. He can violate your privacy all you want, but that doesn't extend to me, okay?"

"Of course," Charles said. He felt a little foolish, and still terminally embarrassed. "Look, about me and Erik—"

"I really don't care," Moira said, her voice gentling. "I knew what I was getting into. You two are obsessed with each other, I get it. You live in each other's shit, and that's fine, I'm just saying—there's a line, and I want to stay on the other side of it."

"You will, I promise," Charles said. "I'll talk to him."

"Good," Moira said. She leaned over and kissed him, then smoothed his hair out. "You can go do it now, because Erik is a goddamn ladyboner killer, so we're not picking this up again tonight."

Charles sighed. Maybe he'd murder Erik himself.

Moira pulled her skirt back on, then picked up her shirt and bra and shoved them in her purse.

"That's my shirt," Charles said.

"Mine now!" she called cheerfully over her shoulder, then blew him a kiss and left the room. Charles watched her go and sighed again, flopping back down onto his bed. 

Not infrequently, Charles was touched by Erik's apparent comfort with him, the lack of personal space, the lack of personal belongings. Erik had no problem rifling through Charles' books and DVDs without asking, with picking things up and playing with them, with snooping through Charles' desk. He took food off of Charles' plate without asking and frequently shared Charles' drinks without batting an eyelash. He treated everything of Charles' as if it was shared property, and assumed Charles would do the same for him. Charles couldn't say he didn't take advantage of it, stealing Erik's hoodies and sweaters, borrowing his books, sitting himself at Erik's laptop to check his email and Facebook on the few occasions they hung out in Erik's room. He even sometimes tricked Erik into eating a vegetable or two by having a salad for lunch, knowing that Erik would eat his leftovers without flinching, no matter what they were.

Still, Moira was right. There was a line. He reached for his phone to text Erik, and it vibrated before he could even get his hand on it. When he picked it up for a closer look, he saw eleven missed texts from Erik.

_omg you're right, it's exactly the same prompt as week two, but with a question at the end. Do you think she'll notice if we turn in the same paper twice?_

_or, haha, maybe I'll write the same paper with the reverse position and see if she notices that._

_ugh there's nothing good on tv and the campus movie channel is still playing fucking donnie darko._

_Do you want to go to the lounge and play mario?_

_did you lose your phone or osmething?_

_it doens't have to be Mario, we can play something else._

_either you're ignoring me or you lost your phone._

_You can't be asleep it's like, 8pm._

_chaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeesssssssssss_

_okay, I'm going to make sure you're not like, dead or something._

Okay, yes, maybe Moira was right in characterizing them as obsessed with each other.

He unlocked his phone and texted back, _Moira's gone, you can come back._

He could tell Erik was back up in his own room, rolling a joint while Tom, his roommate, was at the gym. He followed Erik as he got Charles' text, tucked the joint and a lighter in his pocket, and came down two flights of stairs and into Charles' corner.

Because Erik never learned, he did not knock.

"Hey," he said once he ducked inside and closed the door. "Uh, sorry about..." He waved his hand in the air vaguely, apparently Erik-speak for 'accidentally seeing your girlfriend's breasts.' Charles pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Just...knock? Please?" he asked. "Or next time, I won't be able to stop Moira from punching you."

"Right, yeah, I will," Erik said quickly in a way that made it clear to Charles that he absolutely would forget this conversation in the next ten minutes. Maybe he should start texting Erik a heads-up before he had sex. Would that cross a line?

Erik wasn't wearing shoes, but he stripped off his sweater and crawled into Charles' bed, pulling the joint and lighter out of his pocket and raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

"Sure," Charles said on a sigh. "Why not? It's not like I'm doing anything else tonight, now."

"Awesome," Erik said, and Charles wondered, for a moment, what it said about him that he was in love with someone so profoundly stupid.

Charles thought it over a while, but in the end the only strategy he could up with the simple combination of utter bluntness and frequent reminders.

The next time he and Moira started to get hot and heavy, he put his plan into action.

"Just a second," Charles murmured against Moira's lips. 

"What are you doing?" Moira said, puzzled, as he pulled away to fumble for his phone in his bag by the side of the bed.

Charles typed in the letters quickly.

_Remember how we talked about me having private couple alone time with Moira? This is one of those times. I'll text you later._

"I can't believe you just called time out to let Erik know you're getting laid," Moira said.

"It's better than the alternative, isn't it?" Charles replied, dropping the phone on the floor and turning his attention completely back to her.

The strategy was successful, but it had an unintended consequence, as Charles found out the next day. He was in his organic chemistry classroom, chatting with Hank about a documentary they both wanted to see, while they waited for the professor to arrive and start class.

His phone vibrated with a text notification. "Excuse me," Charles said to Hank, who nodded affably.

Charles wasn't surprised to see the text was from Erik, but he was a little more taken aback by the content.

_fyi I'm hooking up with ned right now_

His concentration was pretty shot during the lecture. It was hard to pay much attention when the unwanted and uninvited image of Erik fucking his boyfriend was impressed so strongly on his brain. He made his apologies to Hank after the lecture and booked it to the dining hall, where he knew Erik would be getting lunch before his next class.

He really could have done without knowing the reason Erik looked so smug and relaxed and the reason Ned was more starry-eyed than usual.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Charles asked, jerking his head towards Ned and raising his eyebrows.

"Of course," Erik said. He elbowed Ned and said, "Go get me a Mountain Dew, okay?"

"Anything you want!" Ned said, and scrambled over towards the drink station. Erik's thrall over his boyfriends continued to be fucking creepy.

Charles rolled slightly closer to the table and glanced around before saying, voice low, "You don't need to text me when you're having sex, Erik."

Erik frowned, french fry halfway to his mouth.

"I thought that was a thing we were doing now," he said. "You started it."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed to a god he didn't believe in for strength.

"Yes," he said, opening his eyes again, "because you have a problem knocking and it's awkward when you burst into my room when I'm otherwise occupied. I, on the other hand, know how to knock and take care not to come into your room unless you've invited me."

Erik chewed his french fry slowly.

"So, you don't want to know when I'm fucking a guy, then?" Erik said.

" _Yes_ ," Charles said vehemently. "Feel free to keep that information private."

"Okay," Erik said. Charles sighed with relief and stole a fry from Erik's plate. "I'll find you after dinner for the beer pong tournament, yeah?"

"You're the one who's always on me to be more awake for College Writing," Charles pointed out. "Staying up late getting drunk with you is a little contradictory." He was going, of course. He and Erik, working together, tended to dominate any pong tournament they entered.

"Yeah, but I can't win without you," Erik said, leaning over and smiling conspiratorially at Charles.

"You're ruining my life, you know that?" Charles lied.

"Nah, I'm making it way more interesting," Erik said. Charles hmphed. "Come on. You love me."

"I do love you," Charles allowed, just as Ned returned with Erik's soda. "I'll see you tonight." He took one more french fry for the road and then headed out to find Moira.

'Interesting' was certainly one word for Erik's effect on his life.


	8. now

Erik spends the rest of the day trying to solidify the next stage of his plan. It's frustrating—he's never had to do this before. He knows he likes Charles—more than likes him. He thinks he knows that Charles likes him. What can he do with this knowledge? How can he use it? For the past two years, he hasn't bothered to pursue anyone—guys have thrown themselves at him, and if he was single he either caught them or ignored them. The last time he was the pursuer and not the pursued was...god, high school. Early high school, even, all those not-quite-out boys he'd exchanged clandestine kisses with in empty hallways or back rows of buses that never had a chance to go much further. Even his senior year boyfriend, the one he'd gone to prom with and dated for over a month, had been the one to ask Erik out, not the other way around.

He stands staring into his closet for far too long, weighing his options. Based on the evidence of Erik's experiment, Charles likes his body. Should he dress to show it off? Or would that give it away? Charles has also commented on multiple occasions that it was important to leave _something_ to the imagination. Come to think of it, those were normally pointed comments at guys who were trying to get into Erik's pants. Is that a reliable opinion, then?

In the end, he dresses the same way he always does, though he does put on a nicer pair of jeans which have the benefit of also being tighter. He rushes to meet up with the rest of the group at the dining hall and distracts himself from his nerves by getting into an argument with Hank about whether or not mutation rates should be factored into mutant political policy. For all that he's a genius, Hank can be an idiot about politics, no matter what Charles says. It's not like Charles is much better, where politics are concerned, and besides, Charles used to go out with Hank. That basically makes his opinion invalid.

(If Erik trails off a little mid-rant thinking about the fact that Charles used to have sex with a guy whose physical body is not that far off from Erik's...well. No one notices. And, fuck, they used to have a LOT of sex, based on the texts Charles used to send Erik to keep him out of the room. Like, _a lot_ a lot. Fuck.)

The meal winds down with the rest of their friends figuring out who's driving who into town and who still has room in their car. Charles nods towards the dorms, and Erik takes that as their cue to clean up and leave.

It's a Thursday night, but it's strangely quiet on campus. There aren't a ton of Friday classes and they're pretty easy to schedule around if you want unlimited three-day weekends, so there's usually more of a party atmosphere brewing by this time. Tonight, the quad is much more subdued. It makes Erik antsy, even antsier than he usually is, antsy enough that Charles washes a calming projection over him and pauses to reach out and take his wrist.

"Are you sure you want to stay in?" he asks. "It seems like you have a lot of energy tonight."

That, Erik thinks, is Charles-talk for 'Are you sure you don't want to go find a random guy and fuck him until you kill some of this excess energy?'

"Yeah," Erik says. "Yeah, I want to stay in."

He still has to figure out the next stage of his plan, and it'll be easier to do that with some time to think. 

When they get to Charles' room, he loads Netflix and immediately goes to the episode of _Archer_ up next in their marathon. He also manages to unearth a bottle of vodka from the back of the closet, though the only mixer he has is grapefruit juice. It's better than nothing, and before long, they're curled up next to each other on Charles' bed, drinking and laughing. It's Erik's favorite place to be and has been since nearly the first day he met Charles.

Fuck, Erik is an idiot.

Charles hits pause as the third episode ends. "Hey, Erik?"

Charles tilts his head toward Erik, his expression sobering up a fraction. His face is flushed, the way it always gets after he's had a drink or two. It makes his eyes look even brighter than usual. 

"Yeah?" Erik says. His mouth goes dry.

"I'm not going to push or anything," Charles says, "but you know that if you feel like talking about whatever's been on your mind lately, we can, right?"

Of course Charles has noticed. Telepathy aside, Charles knows Erik way too well for him to get away with being as weird as he's been since Janos dumped him and he started figuring this out.

Maybe this is a sign, whatever Erik has been waiting for. It's not like his plan has gotten any clearer since they got to Charles'. 

"I..." Erik starts, staring at Charles' expectant face. "I...want to put on some music."

He practically leaps off the bed—he loses his balance a little, actually, catching himself on the wall when he spins too fast toward Charles' desk. 

Charles' iPod is charging in its dock. Erik picks it up and busies himself scrolling through Charles' playlists. Charles mostly has shit taste in music, sadly, despite all of Erik's efforts to broaden his taste over the last two years. There's a couple albums that Erik's given him to check out, but Erik's pretty sure he never listens to them, just keeps them there out of politeness. He definitely never listens to the podcasts Erik recommends to him.

He puts on Charles' favorite studying playlist on shuffle, and the Mamas and the Papas start singing about Mondays as Erik heads back to the bed.

Charles really isn't going to push, Erik knows. He never does. He's always there for Erik to talk to about anything and everything, but he doesn't bug Erik about it. He waits until Erik is ready. Erik's sure he's still curious now, especially after Erik acting weird, but he'll let it go.

Erik takes a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?" Charles perks up a little. "What is it?"

Erik grabs the closest drink—he doesn't remember if it's his or Charles', not that it really matters—and takes a swig of liquid courage before he blurts out, "How would you rate yourself on that one to ten scale?"

That was not at all what Erik intended to say.

Charles looks pretty startled by it, too.

"I'm just curious," Erik says quickly. "You know, gathering data and stuff. For...math reasons."

Charles' brow furrows. The look he gives Erik makes it clear he's sure Erik is either drunk or crazy. It's a look that's very familiar to Erik.

Still, he rolls with it. Which is why Erik has always loved him best.

"You can't rate yourself," Charles says. "It makes no sense to ask someone to rate themselves—that undermines the entire need for an objective system. You'd have to ask someone else. How would you rate me?"

Erik freezes.

"Ten," he says, far too fast. There's a long, quiet moment between them, seconds that seem to stretch out infinitely where Erik thinks he doesn't need any further plan, he should just kiss Charles, he should just—

Then Charles laughs.

"That's very sweet," he says, hiccupping on a laugh, "but objectively not true. To start with, there's the wheelchair which, honestly, knocks me down at least a point or two based on people's confusion and pity alone. Even if I could stand, I'd be far too short, and the second the sun comes out for more than five consecutive minutes, I freckle terribly. I'm babyfaced, which is terrible because I'm going to be carded forever and—"

The only response to that, the only way Erik can possibly refute that _nonsense bullshit_ is to make Charles stop talking entirely. So Erik kisses him.

 _Oh_ , he thinks once his brain catches up to his mouth. His heart jumps up into his throat, and then Charles makes a noise and opens his mouth and Erik drops his cup on the floor and doesn't even care. He needs to put both his hands on Charles—he needs to touch Charles, to hold onto him, to anchor himself to his moment. Charles is clutching his shirt, he must be able to feel how fast Erik's heart is beating. 

There's so much he needs to say, so many things he wants to tell Charles, all the things he's been thinking about these past two weeks, but it all seems secondary to this, just kissing Charles, holding him, being near him.

And, you know, hopefully having sex at some point in the near future because it's been two weeks since Erik's had a boyfriend and he's been walking around with a hard-on for his best friend for the majority of that time.

When they finally part, just for a moment, Charles gasps Erik's name, more breath than word, and it makes Erik dizzy. It makes him disregard his need to breathe, his need to explain, his need to do anything but shift on the bed until they're lying next to each other, still kissing, until Erik has slipped his hand under the hem of Charles' shirt and is touching the warm expanse of his back, his skin touching Charles' skin, feeling that Charles' heart is racing just as fast as his own.

"Erik," Charles says again, pulling his mouth away, panting. His fingers are still twisted into Erik's t-shirt. His hands are shaking. "I—" 

Erik props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Charles. He wishes he could hide the things he knows are showing on his face, all of the feelings, all of the confusion of the past two weeks, the shock, the embarrassment that Charles has been right here the whole time, the most important thing in the world to him but still somehow hidden. 

Charles' gaze—hot, frightened, surprised—softens when Erik looks at him, though.

"Oh, Erik," he murmurs, and reaches up to stroke the side of Erik's face gently before pulling him down for another kiss.

Erik has (as has become abundantly clear to him the last week, sorting through his exes) been with plenty of guys. He's experienced. He knows what he's doing. But he and Charles are only kissing, and it still feels overwhelming, like he's going to burn up or fly away and the only thing that's keeping him here and grounded is the feeling of Charles' skin against his.

Erik didn't even feel this unsteady for his first kiss. That was more rebellion than anything else, really, some of the first steps of him managing to tear himself away from Shaw's thrall. During one of their guidance sessions, Shaw had put his hand on Erik's shoulder and looked down at him with that condescending avuncular smile, and he'd made a comment about how being homosexual was all well and good for humans, but Erik should remember that mutants had a special responsibility to their species to breed eventually. Erik doesn't remember how it came up, and he doesn't know why, when Shaw said so many worse things, that's stuck in his mind even now. But the next day after gym class Erik had kissed Malcolm Stromberg in the locker room, and he hadn't been nervous at all.

He's nervous now. He shouldn't be nervous, because any doubts he had about Charles feeling the same way are gone. 

"You're a really good kisser," Erik whispers when they break apart again to breathe. "Like, really good."

Charles huffs a shadow of a laugh against his mouth. Erik kisses him again, but only for a moment. There have been a thousand times in the last two weeks when he's thought about his mouth on Charles' throat. He doesn't think he can wait another moment longer.

He traces a series of dry kisses across Charles' jaw and down his neck, nipping gently at the juncture to his shoulder and licking in the perfect divot of his collarbone. He returns back to Charles' throat proper, settling in, and when Charles moans it's quiet but Erik can feel all the vibrations from his voicebox through his skin.

Charles' hands come up to Erik's hair, not pulling but hanging on. His thumbs are stroking the sides of Erik's head near his temples.

"God, Erik," Charles says, in a husky and trembling tone that Erik's never heard from him before. That's what Charles sounds like when he's turned on, Erik realizes. His own arousal leaps ridiculously at the thought. 

It's possible that the tight jeans weren't as brilliant an idea as they seemed earlier in the evening.

"Can I—" Erik starts. "I mean, is it okay—do you want to—"

He sounds like an idiot again. It shouldn't be this difficult. He's definitely not a blushing virgin. It's just, it's never been this important to get things perfect before.

"Fuck," Charles says, and when Erik looks up at him his eyes are closed and his face arched up to the ceiling. "Erik, you can do whatever you want."

Oh.

Erik stands up. Hard as it is to leave Charles for even a moment, it's a relief to strip his clothes off. Charles' eyes open halfway through, watching Erik with a heavy gaze that makes him want to shiver.

As soon as he's naked, Erik's back in the bed, curled up as close as he can get along Charles' side.

He kisses him again.

 _I'm kind of in love with you_ , Erik says. It's easier to do it this way, somehow, not having to say it aloud. He finds Charles' hand again, tangling their fingers together. _Just so you know. Like, really fucking in love with you. I'm sorry I took so long to figure it out._

"If I thought this was just happening because you were drunk and horny, I'd kill you and no one would ever find the body," Charles says, which Erik is almost sure is his way of saying he's in love with Erik too.

"Can I?" Erik asks, sliding his hands under Charles' t-shirt again. His skin is hot to the touch and the muscles in his stomach jump when Erik's fingers graze over them. He curls his hands around Charles' hips, then slides them up his rib cage. He feels lightheaded with how badly he wants to see Charles, to touch him. He's never been this desperate for someone before. Desperate for sex, sure, but never for someone so specific.

"Of course," Charles says, breathless. His eyes are squeezed shut again, his breath coming short and fast. "Whatever you want, I told you, anything, everything—"

"I just," Erik says, struggling to explain, to put it to words as he pulls Charles' shirt up and off him. "I just—" His hand stills over the button on Charles' jeans. He knows, a little, from some scattered conversations, that sometimes sex is easy for Charles and sometimes it's difficult and sometimes it's different and all of that makes him nervous when he's dating someone new. Erik doesn't want him to be nervous. Erik just wants Charles to be as happy as he is. "I want it to be good. For you. I want to make you feel good. I want to make it perfect for you. I want you to—to feel the way I do when I'm with you."

Charles is still for a moment. He looks up at Erik, his eyes glassy and bright, and opens his mouth to speak, though he doesn't say anything at first. Erik can hardly breathe with Charles looking at him like that, can hardly do anything but look back and hope that Charles understands.

"Come here," Charles says softly, and Erik goes, he leans over, he curls up against Charles, he wraps his arms around Charles and holds on to him. Out of nowhere, he suddenly thinks he might cry. There's so much inside of him, so many feelings that want to get out.

Charles kisses him again and again, kisses away the building urge to cry, kisses away Erik's words, kisses until Erik's hands stop shaking.

"I do," Charles says, finally, taking one of Erik's hands and putting it back on his fly. "I will. It will be. I'll tell you what to do and we'll figure the rest out together." 

_I'm kind of in love with you too,_ Charles adds telepathically and Erik laughs and kisses Charles again, and if he cries a little, too—well, Charles isn't going to tell anyone.

Later, much later, when Erik is so tired he can barely move, Charles murmurs, "I take back everything I said about that tongue ring."

Erik laughs and touches his own mouth for a moment, smug. Charles almost passed out when Erik got his tongue ring and spent the next two weeks complaining about Erik's complaining and insisting it was weird and tacky. Erik certainly showed him.

"Mm, don't be so smug," Charles says, jostling Erik with his shoulder, or at least trying to—they're too close for it to have much of an effect. Erik pulls Charles even closer until Charles' head is pillowed on Erik's arm and Erik can press his face into Charles' hair. They stay like that for a while, occasionally shifting to kiss and touch in new ways.

"I like your freckles," Erik says eventually, half-asleep and staring down at Charles' face.

Charles opens his eyes and looks up at Erik. Erik can already see where he's going to have hickeys all along his throat in the morning. It makes something inside of him twist happily. Everyone will know. Erik likes that.

"Hm?" Charles asks.

"Your freckles," Erik murmurs. "I like them. I like the ones on your nose. And I like being taller than you, when we're laid out like this, together. And, if anyone is put off by the wheelchair, then fuck them, what does their opinion matter? Who cares what they think? They can fuck off." Charles smiles, just a little, sweet and pleased, and turns his head to press that smile into Erik's shoulder. "And...and...I like your face. So."

Charles bursts out laughing, then, but before Erik can be put out, he tugs Erik down for another kiss and then another and then Erik forgets why he was annoyed in the first place.


	9. then

"So I was thinking about it some more," Erik said one day, when they were waiting for College Writing to begin, "and I don't think you coming over for spring break is going to work. My dad and I are going to have to do some work on the house first so it's okay for you. So summer, okay?"

Charles was still working on draining his coffee in fevered gulps, but he lowered his thermos at that (though still clutching it tightly in both hands) so that he could blink at Erik slowly. After all this time, he probably should have been used to Erik's habit of introducing topics as if they were already mid-conversation. Not to mention his dedication to telling rather than asking.

"And actually," Erik continued, "summer's better anyway. You can stay longer that way, _plus_ it means we'll be together for your birthday, and we can make it fucking awesome."

"Were you going to even ask if I wanted to come before you started making renovations to your parent's house?" Charles felt a need to say.

"Do you not want to come?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Of course I want to come."

"Well, then," Erik said, conversation closed. Charles didn't pursue it; he figured soaking up the last dredges of his caffeine was a better use of his time, anyway.

His actual spring break was once again spent at home. It was better than his previous visits home by leaps and bounds, mostly because Mother and Kurt were out of the country, vacationing in Italy with one of Kurt's supposed business partners. Still, it was pretty boring, since Raven's break didn't overlap with his, and she was in school the entire time. Charles spent most of the week playing video games and reading books for pleasure, the way he never seemed to have much time for during the semester.

When he texted Erik that he was rereading _The Once and Future King_ , Erik responded with a series of exclamation points and excited emoji. 

_that's seriously one of my favorite books ever, are you kidding_

_here i'm gonna start a new read too_

_we can text back and forth as we go okay? i wan to know all your thoughts_

In essence, it was a very weird, incredibly enjoyable book club. It was probably—no, definitely—the highlight of Charles' week.

Moira waited a little while after break was over to have a serious conversation with him, but by that time Charles was expecting it. He'd been able to feel the thoughtfulness and consideration every time he saw her for the last few days. She was obviously wrestling with a decision. Charles thought about bringing it up first himself to make it easier, but he was vaguely aware that she might consider that cheating, so he waited instead.

He could tell as soon as she came to his room that night that she'd made up her mind, though. Once Moira made up her mind about things, she didn't question them or doubt herself, just followed them through. It was another thing Charles liked about her. 

"Hey," Moira said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Can we talk?"

"Of course," Charles said. He turned so he was giving her his complete attention, folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently.

Moira eyed him. "You totally already know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"I...have a pretty good idea," Charles admitted.

She half-snorted, shaking her head. "Well, I'll say it anyway, I guess. I think we should break up."

Charles was sad about it, he was, but...maybe not as sad as he thought he would be.

"I like you a lot," Moira said, giving him a half-smile, "and we've had a ton of fun together. I just—I don't know. It's not really going to go anywhere, and that's fine, but it's not really what I want anymore."

"That's fair," Charles said. It was. More than fair, really. He couldn't blame anybody for wanting to be their partner's top priority. "We'll still be friends, though, won't we? I know that's something people say, but I actually mean it."

"I know you do," Moira said. "And I mean it too. It might be a little weird for a while—maybe it's better if we don't hang out one-on-one for a few weeks. But obviously I think we should still go to the mall with everyone on Friday and we can still be lab partners and I'm still going to eat with you guys. At least, when it's more than just you and Erik and whomever he's fucking at the moment."

"Uh, the guy with the handlebar mustache and the radar powers," Charles said. "Marvin?"

Moira rolled her eyes and they shared a long-suffering look. Charles was going to miss having someone to bitch about the revolving door of mutant hipsters with. 

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," Charles said. "I wish...well, I suppose I wish things had been different."

"You don't," Moira said firmly. "And that's okay. I knew when we started that it wouldn't be forever. I didn't expect you to change, and if even a part of me did, I think it was probably pretty clear around the time you started texting Erik every time we had sex."

Charles covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"I've told you," he said, "that was pure practicality."

"I'm fucking with you, Charles," Moira said. "I mean, only a little, because you two are super fucked up about each other and that is definitely weird, but I get why you did it." She paused, then, and glanced away, chewing on her lip. He could tell there was something else, something more that she wasn't saying.

"It's okay," he told her gently. "Whatever it is you need to tell me...."

She looked back and him and sighed.

"I know we literally just broke up," she said, "so it's none of my business and you can feel free to tell me that it's none of my business, but you and Erik...." Charles felt his face flush, but he nodded at her to continue. "You told me once that you weren't his type. The reason you're not his type...it's not because...you know, the wheelchair?"

Charles let his breath out all at once and shook his head vehemently.

"Not at all," he told her. "Oh god, no." He laughed. He couldn't help it. "No, though I appreciate your concern. It's just...Erik has some particular ideas on what constitutes a boyfriend. And, you've seen the guys he dates. He's not looking, at the moment, for someone he likes to fill those needs. I'm just...wholly something else to him. And maybe someday he'll realize I can be both or we'll just be best friends forever, and I'm fine with that."

Moira didn't look entirely settled by that, but shrugged anyway.

"If you're sure," she said. "Because I am more than willing to beat the shit out of him if you need me to."

"I appreciate it, I do," Charles said. "Moira—I really do like you so much. You know that, right? All of the other things aside, I really intend to remain friends with you. I'd be lost without you."

"Jesus, you're gonna make me cry," Moira said, and leaned over to hug him tightly. "You can't get rid of me that easily, you know."

"I certainly hope not," Charles said, and hugged her back just as hard.

Moira kept her distance for a few days after that. She was still chatty and easy to work with in their shared bio lab, but she made herself scarce at meal times and rode with Armando to the mall, rather than share Erik's car with Charles like she normally did. Charles missed her, but he wasn't lacking in company; Erik's response to their break-up, after Charles assured Erik that they were staying friends, was to all but live in Charles' room for a week while Tom's girlfriend visited over her spring break.

They were lovely, Tom and Sharon. Baseline humans, both of them, but kind and funny. Erik acted as if living with Tom was a personal affront, but he also knew that they had already agreed to live together the next year.

"Better than having to get used to someone new," Erik had told him. "Unless you—"

"Not for love or money, darling," Charles said quickly, and not for the first time. "I love you, Erik. I would murder you if I had to share space with you."

"Yeah, yeah," Erik said, shrugging it off. "Anyway, better than having to get used to someone new."

"Mmhm," Charles said, but left Erik otherwise to his delusions.

As March slipped into April and Erik started to weigh whether going home for Passover for a weekend would be worth the six-hours-both-ways drive, Charles woke up one morning to an email from Raven.

_Sooooooooooooooooo, since Claremont Hills is super near the top of my list of potential schools, I was thinking maybe it would be cool if I came and stayed with you for my spring break??? Only if it's cool with you and you have the space and stuff. I saw on Facebook that you and Moira broke up, so if you want to like, mourn, that's okay too. Or we could get trashed together (I'm not a baby anymore, you drank with me at Christmas, so don't even get on me about that) or whatever. And I can meet Erik and your other friends and...you know, get a taste of real college life?_

_BUT ONLY IF IT'S OKAY. If you think it would be weird, I can just schedule a regular campus visit or whatever._

_Love you miss you Sharon and Dad are still the worst <3_

Charles said yes, of course, and proceeded to spend the next few weeks planning and obsessing over getting every detail perfect for Raven's trip.

"Why are you being so weird about this?" Erik finally asked, a few days before Raven's arrival. They were hanging out in Erik's room, for once, and Charles had just gone over his plans in painstaking detail for the millionth time while Erik entertained himself by doing sit-ups on the floor. "It's just your sister coming. I know you love her and everything, but it's not like you have to impress her, right?"

"I'm not being weird," Charles said. He was avoiding looking at Erik, who in addition to being sweaty and shirtless, appeared to have a rock-hard stomach and two rings hanging from his nipples that Charles knew for a fact hadn't been there the last time Charles had seen him without a top. Instead he kept his focus on the opposite wall and Tom's puppy-themed wall calendar and bulletin board of family pictures. "I just want everything to be perfect, okay?"

"If you say so," Erik said, shrugging.

Raven arrived on Sunday evening, with an overstuffed duffel bag and a hug for Charles that lasted five minutes. It hadn't been very long since they'd seen each other, but for some reason it felt like a big deal, like a long-awaited reunion. Raven, like Erik and a few other people Charles had met over over the years, took up as much space, personality-wise, as any half-dozen other people. It was a little surreal to see her in the context of his life at school, but he figured he had a few days to get used to it.

"I have class first thing in the morning, but you can sleep in," Charles said. "And then afterwards I have a meeting with one of my professors about this project I'm working on, but Erik said he would come and hang out with you for a while so you won't be all alone the whole time. And then I can meet up with you guys for lunch and I can start introducing you to people and give you the tour. What do you think?"

"Sounds okay," Raven agreed. "Actually, I was hoping to get some alone time with Erik anyway. I bet he has all the best dirt on you. I need somebody to fill in all the shit I've missed while you've been away."

"Erik would _never_ ," Charles said, and then immediately upon reconsidering, "You shouldn't listen to anything he says, anyway."

He reminded Erik of the same thing the next morning, too, as they got out of class. "Don't let her get distracted by telling stories about me as a kid, they're all lies," Charles told him. 

"You realize you just absolutely guaranteed I'm going to ask her about that, right?" Erik said, grinning toothily.

"Shut up," Charles said. "Look, just—be nice to her, okay? Just be nice."

"I'm always nice," Erik said. Charles thought he was trying to go for offended, but it didn't quite work. "You're worrying about this too much. I have a little sister, too, you know."

"I've heard how you talk to your sister. That's not comforting." Ruth and Erik's relationship, from what Charles had picked up, wasn't particularly close. They were fond enough of each other in a general way—they'd grown out of the stage of intense picking on one another—but they didn't have anything in common and their lives just didn't overlap much. When Erik talked about Ruth, it was mostly to make fun of her interests, in a way that was good-natured but still kind of asshole-ish.

Erik dismissed the point with a shrug. "Whatever. It'll be fine. And you're going to be late for your meeting if you don't get going."

Charles glanced at his phone and then back up at Erik. "Okay, okay, just...have fun, don't scare her, be nice to her, and I'll meet you in an hour."

"It'll be fine!" Erik repeated, and Charles dashed for the elevator, hoping he could get to the natural sciences building before he was late.

He didn't pay nearly as much attention to Dr. Black as he should have during his meeting, his mind constantly drifting back towards his dorm where Erik was hopefully not scaring the crap out of Raven. Still, he did his best to report on the findings of a semester's worth of research and the issues he was having turning that data into the paper he wanted to write. He took notes on Dr. Black's suggestions, thanked him perhaps a bit too abruptly, and wheeled himself across campus to the dining hall fast enough to be dangerous.

He was afraid that Raven and Erik would hate each other. It didn't occur to him to be afraid of the opposite.

Raven and Erik were sitting at Charles and Erik's normal cluster of tables. They were laughing. A lot. Laughing hard, even, shoulders shaking, doubled over the table laughing. 

For some reason, it made Charles feel a little sick.

He skipped the lunch line and made his way through the tables and chairs until he reached their corner.

"Hi," he said, tapping on the table to get their attention. "Glad to see you two getting along."

"Your sister is _amazing_ ," Erik told him immediately, wiping away tears of laughter. "She is _nothing_ like Ruth."

"Aw, thanks," Raven said, reaching across the table to punch Erik's arm good naturedly. "You're pretty amazing yourself. I can't believe you hang out with my loser brother. This week is going to be awesome."

"Awesome," Charles said, lightly, and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach intensifying.

It wasn't that Charles didn't want Erik and Raven to get along. They were probably the two people he loved most in the world; he'd be a wreck if they hated each other. But in his mind, getting along meant maybe hanging out with him simultaneously, making vague, pleasant conversation while he was at class, and becoming Facebook friends. He wasn't expecting them to bond immediately. He wasn't expecting them to _like_ each other.

He should have seen this coming. Erik and Raven had much more in common than either of them had in common with Charles. They were both gregarious and unapologetic about their opinions, blunt and devoted to their causes. They had similar political interests and musical tastes. They were both much cooler than Charles. Erik and Raven were natural best friends. Charles was just there by circumstance. He was their opposite in so many ways—what use did they have for him now that they'd met each other?

It was stupid to think that. He immediately knew it was stupid, knew that if Raven or Erik were to hear him say it, they'd smack him. He knew that he should be happy they were getting along and enjoying their time together.

His pathetic fears and the knowledge that they were ridiculous met somewhere in the middle, leaving him antsy and uncomfortable as they ate lunch together, with Erik already making a list of all the best places on campus that she had to visit and insisting that she HAD to come to Claremont for college.

He did his best to push down the feeling, but he couldn't quite manage to make it go away completely, even as the week progressed.

Erik thought Raven had one of the coolest mutations he had ever seen, and that should have made Charles happy—it did make him happy, seeing Raven beam at the compliment. Raven had spent plenty of time when they were younger nervous about her natural form; it was only in the last couple years that she'd really fully embraced it and everything she could do. She deserved to be appreciated and Charles was glad Erik did, but as she showed off and they laughed together, he still couldn't escape that sick feeling.

"Erik's making me a reading list!" Raven said at breakfast on Wednesday. "To catch me up on some important mutant rights background."

Charles raised his eyebrows at Erik, who looked entirely pleased with himself.

"You should let me see the list when he's done," Charles said. "I bet I have a few annotations and palate cleansers to suggest. Just to make sure you get a more balanced overview."

"Raven has a lot of really interesting ideas," Erik said serenely. "She's a lot more reasonable than you about some things."

"Yeah, I bet," Charles murmured.

"Don't be an ass, Charles," Raven said cheerfully, bumping her shoulder against his.

Raven hit it off well with the rest of their friend circle, too—she and Armando seemed to click, especially, and what was _really_ unexpected was how Emma seemed to immediately take Raven under her wing—but that simply made Charles happy. It didn't inspire the same dumb jealousy.

There was another part of the visit Charles hadn't really expected, either, which was the sheer toll it took having someone constantly in his space. He had been too busy being excited to really imagine what it would be like having one person around all the time for even a few days. And it wasn't just any person, of course, it was _Raven_ —Raven whom he loved more than just about anybody, but who was also his sister who knew all his buttons and definitely had the ability to annoy him more than just about anybody, too.

It was safe to say that by Friday, Charles was pretty on edge, which was probably why he reacted the way he did when he got back to his room from class and discovered Raven and Erik giggling and passing a bong back and forth on his bed.

"What the _fuck_?" Charles said, slamming the door shut behind him. They'd put a towel down to the crack of the door to keep smoke from getting into the hall, and it caught for a second in his wheels, which only pissed him off more. Erik jumped up to help, but Charles shooed him away. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it fucking look like, Charles?" Raven said. Her mood had already adjusted in response to Charles', her giggles transforming into an annoyed glare that was aimed at him. 

Charles turned to Erik, who was glancing back and forth between them, looking a little baffled. 

"What were you thinking, Erik? I ask you to watch my little sister for a few minutes and you get her high?"

"Because you weren't smoking up when you were seventeen, oh no," Raven said.

"Shut up, Raven, that's not the point!" Charles snapped.

"Are you mad at me?" Erik finally said, his brow furrowing. 

"Yes, you idiot, I'm mad at you. Ugh." Erik was apparently at the completely and utterly useless stage by now; there was no use talking to him about anything serious until he'd sobered up a bit.

"Fine!" Raven said. "If we're so offensive to you, we'll leave you alone." She jumped off Charles' bed and grabbed Erik's arm. "Come on. He wants to sit around being an asshole by himself."

"What?" Erik asked, but when Raven tugged him out of the room, he went easily enough, though he was still staring at Charles, confused, until Raven slammed the door. 

Charles threw the towel at his hamper with an angry grunt and then rolled over to his desk and threw his bag on top of it with much more force than necessary. He almost knocked over the bong, which they had left behind, along with Erik's shoes and bag. Next he opened his windows to try and dissipate the lingering scent of pot that was hanging in the air. With nothing productive left to do, he pulled himself onto his bed for a good sulk.

It was stupid. It was so stupid. He certainly had smoked pot at seventeen. He'd even told Erik to bring his weed with him later tonight, figuring it would be a nice way to send Raven off before she left the next afternoon. Raven had smoked before. It wasn't Raven getting high, it was, of course, Raven getting high with Erik. 

Raven getting high with Erik, without him.

"I'm an idiot," he said to the ceiling. 

It was still his room, though. His room, and he wasn't there. His room, and Raven was his guest, and Erik should have thought about that, and Raven should have...she should have known. She should have known that it was a long, exhausting week for him, that he was frustrated from having her in his space, that he was tired and stressed out and that Erik was his best friend— _his_. Even if she and Erik were more suited for each other anyway. Even if Erik liked her ideas more, and her mutation and—

Ugh. He was disgusted with himself. Or he would have been if there was any space left to be disgusted, what with all the miserable jealousy still suffocating him.

He was maybe half an hour into his sulk when his door slowly opened. Erik walked cautiously across the room, clearly waiting for a response from Charles. When none came, he laid down on the bed next to Charles, staring up at the ceiling with him.

"I'm sorry you're mad at me," he said, a perfect Erik apology. Erik was never sorry for what he did, just for how it made people feel. 

"I know," Charles said.

"But, in my defense, you told me to bring pot over here today, so," he added. Charles sighed.

"I know," he said again.

Erik was quiet for a minute, but Erik's silences only lasted so long.

"I don't get it," he finally said. "All last week all you could talk about was Raven coming to visit and how you wanted me to meet Raven and how you couldn't wait for me to meet Raven and you hoped I liked Raven and I had to be nice to Raven and...I met her! And she's great! I like her a lot! And I thought that was what you wanted, but you've been kind of a dick all week."

Charles closed his eyes.

"I know," he said for a third time.

"You've said that already," Erik said. Then, "Your bed is like, really soft."

It was possible Erik wasn't entirely sober yet.

"I wanted you to like Raven," Charles said. "But...I guess, seeing you together...you two have so much in common. You like the same music, you have the same opinions about politics, you have the same sense of humor. And I don't like any of those things. I don't know any of the bands you know or agree with you on anything remotely political. I wanted you to like her, but now I'm...afraid you like her more than me."

Erik was quiet again. Charles counted his own breaths, his own heartbeats. How embarrassing would it be if Moira broke up with him and he barely batted an eyelash, then Erik ended their friendship and he was inconsolable?

Then Erik abruptly rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow.

"You think _I'm_ an idiot? You're so fucking stupid, Charles." 

Charles blinked.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"You're an idiot!" Erik said. "You're my _best friend_. I don't like anyone more than you! I will never like anyone more than you! I have never, ever liked anyone as much as you! Why would you think that?"

"I don't know anything about music!" Charles protested. "And I hate the Freedom Force Party and I hate all those stupid radical politicians you love and—"

"So?" Erik asked. "I don't care! I like debating with you. I like arguing with you about that stuff. And I don't care what music you like or how you dress—"

"Wait," Charles said. "What's wrong with how I dress?"

"—or any of that crap. I like you. Because you're you. Because you...know science things and laugh way too hard at my stupid jokes and dominate in beer pong with me and text about stupid shit with me and—you're my best friend. And you're an asshole if you think I'd, like, get rid of you because your sister and I go to the same concerts."

Charles closed his eyes again. Maybe it was the contact high, but he was suddenly feeling exhausted and vaguely weepy. Erik wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled into his shoulder.

"You think you're so much smarter than me about feelings and people," he said, rubbing his nose against Charles' shirt. "See? You can be stupid, too."

"Yes, you've said that nine or ten times now, thanks," Charles said, but he pet Erik's hair as he said it. His mouth was curling up into a smile against his will.

There was so much more—there were so many things about Raven, about their growing up together, about the competition he always felt, no matter how much he loved her, about how complicated it all was. But that could wait.

They laid like that for a few more minutes before Raven returned, somewhere between steely and contrite. She eyed the two of them, curled up on the bed, and then took a seat at Charles' desk.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hi," Charles said. "I'm sorry about before. I was...slightly out of line."

"I should have known you would start with that," Raven said, sharpness softening a bit more. "I had this whole speech I had planned out about you being a huge hypocrite and how you're my brother, not my dad, and you're not in charge of me, but you had to go and ruin it by apologizing first."

"Charles is everyone's dad," Erik murmured into Charles' shoulder.

"Shut up, Erik," Charles said, petting his hair again. 

"And I guess we should probably have gone to Erik's room instead, instead of doing it in your room without you," Raven said. "So I guess I'm sorry about that."

That was such a tiny part of why Charles had reacted the way he did, but he didn't feel up for doing the emotional revelations twice in ten minutes, especially not with Erik still right beside him. Raven's guess made just as much sense as the truth.

"It's fine," Charles said, giving her a small smile so she could see he really meant it. "Let's just forget it happened, okay? You're only here for a little bit longer. We should do something fun tonight."

Raven leaned back in the chair, watching Charles—and by extension, Erik curled around him—silently for a few more seconds. "Do you think..." she started hesitantly. "I mean, maybe it could be just you and me tonight? Would that be cool?"

The knot in Charles' stomach unraveled a little bit more. "Yeah, of course we can! Just let me—Erik." Erik yawned. His eyes were closed by now. "Erik, wake up."

"I'm not asleep, I'm just resting my eyes," Erik said automatically.

"You're going to have to go rest your eyes in your own room. Come on, get up."

Erik rose up to a sitting position. His hair was messy and his shirt was hitched up, showing off a sliver of his belly. He looked at Charles plaintively. "Why are you kicking me out? You're not having sex with anybody."

"Oh my god," Raven said in the background, sounding delighted.

"Sometimes I need private time with people for reasons other than sex," Charles said. Erik's response to that was to grunt mulishly, but he got up anyway, starting to gather up his things he'd left when Raven had dragged him out so abruptly earlier.

"Text me later," Erik reminded him, hanging back at the doorway for a moment.

"I will," Charles promised. He always did.

He and Raven stayed up way too late, watching old episodes of _America's Next Top Model_ and _RuPaul's Drag Race_ , Raven transforming herself into Tyra occasionally just to give ridiculous monologues and make Charles laugh until he almost puked. She painted his toenails. They talked about old in-jokes and memories and nothing serious at all.

The next day when Raven left, the regret and relief were so tangled in Charles' mind he couldn't sort them out from each other. He was fairly certain the visit had pushed Raven from strongly considering Claremont to having it be her number one choice, but at least Charles had over a year to get over himself enough to deal with that.

"It's okay if I'm Facebook and Instagram friends with her, right?" Erik said that night at dinner.

"Yes, Erik," Charles said, "that's absolutely fine."

"Good," Erik said, in a tone that made Charles absolutely certain that he'd already friended her anyway.

Both of them doubled down on studying the last few weeks of the semester. Erik was abruptly paranoid that his scholarship was going to get taken away—which was absolutely ridiculous, because Erik was brilliant, and even with all his non-scholastic activities, his GPA was nearly perfect. He didn't listen to reason, though, and while Charles wanted to reassure him, it wasn't as if concentrating on schoolwork was a _bad_ thing. It was probably good to encourage, really, so Charles threw himself into it as well. He was still single, too; it wasn't like he had that to distract him.

Erik wasn't single, of course, but that didn't matter, because his boyfriends never managed to have enough of an impact to become distracting. The only thing that came close to distracting Erik was the plans he was making to renovate the downstairs of his parents' house so that Charles could come visit over the summer.

"Are you sure your parents are okay with you doing all of this?" Charles asked one afternoon in the library. Erik had set aside his textbooks for the moment and was showing Charles the list of supplies he and his father had put together.

"Of course!" Erik said. He looked almost offended that Charles had asked. "It's not that big of a deal, really. Just putting the ramp in the back and widening a couple doorways and putting new doors on the downstairs shower and stuff."

It sounded like a lot to Charles, but Erik made it clear that part of the discussion was over, focusing instead on all the things they were going to do together and planning Charles the best birthday ever. Charles let himself get swept up in it, almost resenting the three week long science summer program in June that was keeping him from leaving for Erik's immediately after they moved out of the dorms.

In no time at all, finals were upon them. Erik helped him pack between study sessions, and by the time their tests were finished, he was completely ready to leave as soon as his mother's driver showed up.

"It's just like, a month," Erik said as they waited in Charles' room for his ride. "It's basically the same as Christmas break, and then you'll be at my place for like, as long as you want."

"Two weeks," Charles reminded him. 

"Yeah, but if you wanted to stay longer, that would be cool, too," Erik said. "I mean, I have to work, but you could totally entertain yourself while I'm at work."

"Two weeks," Charles said again. He was already nervous about wearing out his welcome. He hoped Erik's family didn't resent him for the renovations. 

"We'll see," Erik said.

And then Mr. Williams arrived and that was it. His boxes were loaded into the back of the car and he was staring out the window at Erik waiting on the curb, looking, if anything, more put out than Charles.

_A month_ , Charles reminded him. Erik nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

_And I'll text you every day,_ he promised. _No time at all._

It certainly felt like a long time, as Mr. Williams pulled out from the dorm parking lot and headed back towards Salem Center.


	10. now

Erik's first thought when he wakes up is that he's in Charles' bed and he should be on the floor. He loves falling asleep in Charles' bed because Charles is like a furnace, but if he's in bed with Charles, it usually means it's because he fell asleep before he could relocate to the floor, so he should—

Oh. No, there was another reason for falling asleep in Charles' bed last night.

Erik smiles slowly and then opens his eyes.

Charles is still asleep next to him, naked, because they had sex last night. They had sex and they talked and then they had sex again. His best friend, the person who's meant the world to him for the past two years—he still feels stupid for taking so long to figure out just how important Charles _was_ , but he doesn't want to waste any more time feeling sorry for himself. Not when he can be spending that time doing other things.

But he doesn't do anything, not for a long time. They have plenty of time before Charles has to meet with his advisor, lots of time for Erik to wake Charles up and make a strong case for either round three or breakfast, but he can't bring himself to move. Charles is sleeping so peacefully next to him, his face smushed against the pillows, his chest rising and falling as he breathes. He's covered in hickeys, at least a few of which are going to show, and Erik is inordinately pleased by that. It may have taken him a little while to get with the program, but now that he understands, he likes the idea of leaving evidence of himself behind. 

Charles slowly starts to wake up, his nose twitching and then a yawn and then finally, his eyes flying open. 

"Oh my god," Charles says once he's staring at Erik. His eyes are really blue. Erik is an idiot for taking so long to understand how hot Charles is.

"Hi," Erik says. He tries to smile smugly, but he suddenly feels strangely shy.

"Hi," Charles says, and slowly cracks his own smile. Erik can't stop himself from kissing Charles, not when Charles still looks all sleepy and confused and pink. He kisses him twice, even, and by the end of the second kiss, Charles looks marginally more awake.

"This is so cool," Erik says, stroking Charles' hair. "This is...this is the best, Charles. I feel like...I feel like...I don't know, like I won something. Like I'm getting away with something. It shouldn't be allowed to feel like this, you know?"

"To me it just feels...surreal," Charles says. "I never expected you to—I thought maybe, one day, but most days it felt more like a hypothetical."

"Wait a second," Erik says. "How long have you known? That you liked me, I mean?"

Charles immediately looks cagey.

"For...a while," Charles says.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Erik asks, wrapping his arms more tightly around Charles. He's not pouting. He's not.

"Why didn't you?" Charles volleys back. He tugs on Erik's arm until he can take Erik's hand and interlock their fingers. They've always done that. They've always held hands and shared a bed and cuddled. Being with Charles, on top of Charles, in Charles' head has always been where Erik's felt most comfortable, most himself. It amazes him, still, that he never realized why that was.

"I didn't know!" Erik insists, nuzzling Charles' throat. He rests his forehead in the crook of Charles' neck, warm and close and breathing him in. "I didn't understand. I didn't figure it out until Janos dumped me and then I had to be sure and I had to think about it and unravel everything and pick it apart and..." He sighs. He can hear Charles' heartbeat, steady and constant. "I didn't know. I wish you had told me. I wish you had...had looked in my head and figured it out and told me."

"Oh, _Erik_ ," Charles says. He sighs, too, his breath softly ruffling Erik's hair. "It doesn't work that way, you know."

"It should," Erik says. "It would be so much easier. We wouldn't have wasted so much time."

"Hey," Charles says, poking him until Erik props himself up enough to meet his gaze. "You think this was a waste of time, huh?"

Erik can't help but grin down at him. "No, fine, you're right." Nothing about their friendship could be considered a waste. It's just...they could have been doing this so much _sooner_.

Charles pulls him down for another kiss, and they lose another few minutes like that, unrushed, lazy touches that aren't leading anywhere, just content to be what they are. 

It's strange—Erik's never been, like, against kissing, of course, but he's always kind of thought of it as, well...not that interesting. Kissing is fine, but it's mostly something you do before you settle down and get to the good stuff.

Kissing Charles is different. He doesn't know if it's just that Charles is a better kisser than his exes or what, but kissing Charles is good. It feels good as its own destination, not just a prelude to sex—though he wants to have more sex with Charles, lots of sex—but for now this is amazing, too.

"We both need to shower and get dressed," Charles says eventually, though the firmness of his words is definitely at odds with the way he's still clutching at Erik's sides and his mouth is only millimeters away.

"Okay," Erik agrees, but then he kisses Charles again anyway. He can tell Charles would let him keep going and not argue, so he has to be the one to make himself stop and tear away from Charles' body with a sigh. 

His clothes are still scattered across the floor, along with Charles'. He picks up the latter and sets them on Charles' dresser, out of the way, and then starts pulling on his own.

He notices about halfway through getting dressed that Charles is watching him, a weird expression on his face.

"What?"

"Do you just...not wear underwear?" Charles asks.

Erik looks down at himself. "I mean. Sometimes. Why?"

Charles shakes his head. "Never mind. I'll meet you at the dining hall in a half hour, okay?"

Erik grins at him sunnily. "Okay."

Tom is in their room and already awake when Erik gets there, sitting in bed on his laptop. He glances up when Erik enters. 

"Hey, you're in a good mood. Did you and Charles sort it out?"

"We weren't fighting," Erik reminds him, heading for the closet to pick out today's outfit. "But...yeah, actually, we kind of did. We're, um, we're actually going out now."

Tom doesn't say anything. When Erik turns to glance at him, though, he's beaming.

"I knew you guys would get there eventually!" Tom says. He doesn't stop beaming, even when Erik scowls at him.

"What the fuck do you mean?" he asks, grabbing a faded Omega Level v-neck, a pair of suspenders, and clean(ish) jeans. 

"Sharon is going to be _so_ happy," Tom continues. "I can't wait to tell her."

"Wait." Erik turns around and pins Tom under a glare again. "What do you mean Sharon's going to be happy? What...what?"

"About you and Charles," Tom says patiently. "We've been waiting for you two to get your acts together and start dating since Christmas last year. Maybe earlier."

Erik sits down on the edge of his bed. He's still glaring at Tom because...Tom...but he's a little thrown, too. Did everyone know? Did everyone suspect?

"I...really?" Erik says. 

"I mean, I didn't want to get into your business," Tom says. He's typing now, and keeps glancing down at the screen and smiling. He must be talking to his stupid girlfriend. "But you and Charles...you've always been way more than best friends. I don't treat any of my best friends the way that you treat Charles. I don't...hold their hands and tell them I love them and blow off my girlfriend the second they show up."

Erik wants to immediately snap back that's because all of Tom's friends are probably dumb jocks like him, and maybe he needs to get better friends, and maybe he's just too heteronormative to appreciate a solid, romantic friendship, but the words die on Erik's tongue because...well, he's not wrong.

"You once kicked a guy out of here without his pants on because Charles called and told you they added some documentary he wanted to watch to Netflix," Tom says, eyebrows raised.

"It was a good movie and it's hard to find in the US," Erik says, absently.

"Anyway," Tom says. "I'm just saying. I'm really happy for you." He types something else into his computer and then smiles. "Sharon says congrats too."

"Right," Erik says. "I'm going to, uh...go get dressed."

"Sure thing," Tom says, and returns his attention to his computer. "Say hi to Charles for me, and tell him we're both so happy for you guys!"

"That won't happen," Erik says. He slips on his flipflops and grabs his shower stuff and his towel and heads down the hall to the bathroom.

Tom knew. Erik didn't know and _Tom_ knew. This is so fucking embarrassing.

But, like Charles pointed out, the past two years have been awesome, even if he and Charles didn't realize they could have been having sex the whole time. Really good sex. Really, amazingly good sex. Sex that Erik probably shouldn't be thinking about if he wants to meet Charles at the dining hall on time.

He stops briefly in his room to drop off his towel and exchange his flipflops for combat boots. Tom is still smiling at him, which is annoying enough that Erik doesn't even acknowledge him, just sprints out of the room again as soon as his boots are tied. He meets Charles on the pathway to the dining hall and pauses, flustered by his urge to kiss Charles hello.

Then he realizes there's no reason not to, so he does. 

"I just saw you," Charles says, but he catches Erik's hand and squeezes it and he's smiling.

"I know," Erik says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just...wanted to."

"Good," Charles says. "Feel free to do that whenever you want."

Erik thinks he should feel like an idiot, standing there in the middle of the path, the two of them holding hands and grinning at each other, but it actually feels pretty good.

"Oh god," Charles says after a moment, "you really have to embrace all the hipster affectations that I hate, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Erik asks.

"Suspenders over a t-shirt to hold up pants that are basically melded into your skin and definitely don't need any help," Charles says. He starts moving towards the dining hall and Erik follows him. They've had this conversation a hundred thousand times before. It's nice to know Charles isn't going to be any less of a dick to him just because they're dating.

"It's not an affectation, it's a style choice," Erik says. "It looks cool."

"It looks like you don't understand how suspenders work," Charles says.

They bicker the whole way to the dining hall and then all the way through the line. After they fill their trays, Erik spots Armando, Emma, and Hank waving them over to a table near their usual alcove, so he steers them that way.

"I'm just saying," he says to Charles as they place their trays on the table and sit down, "you think of clothes as this like, utilitarian thing. Like, 'oh, I guess I'll just wear a sack because what it looks like doesn't matter.' But it's like...an artform, okay? What you wear is a way of expressing yourself and a way of like, defining who you are. Not just like, hipster or prep or goth or whatever, but who _you_ are and what you like."

"And I understand that," Charles says, "but at the same time, things have a purpose! They're created with particular uses in mind, and choosing to use them in a manner that does not fulfill that purpose looks stupid."

"It's a _choice_ to create a _look_ that looks _fucking cool_ ," Erik says.

Charles rolls his eyes. 

"You're very annoying," he says. "I'm going to eat my eggs and let you be very annoying to someone else for a change."

Erik resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Charles. And the urge to crawl across the table and climb onto his lap and kiss him.

He looks around the table. Emma is texting, Armando is watching them, vaguely entertained, and Hank is yawning and pushing his oatmeal around his bowl. Erik hasn't ever—well. He's never even bothered to introduce his boyfriends to his friends before, let alone announce that they're dating. It was two different worlds, really, the world of dumb but hot guys who wanted to fuck him and the world of the people whose opinions actually mattered. But Charles is part of this world and Charles has always informed the rest of the group when he was dating within it and, well...Erik's never really dated anyone he wanted to show off before.

He definitely wants to show Charles off. Plus, they're going to find out eventually, if they haven't already guessed, if only because even with all but the very top of the buttons on Charles' shirt done up, there are still a couple hickeys visible on his throat.

Erik is maybe disproportionately smug about that.

He clears his throat until everyone is looking at him.

"Um," he says. "Charles and I are dating now. So. Yeah."

It feels weird, just announcing it like that. Like he's expecting everyone to applaud, or something. He's not even sure how he does want them to react, for that matter.

Armando looks pleased. "Hey, good for you guys," he says, and leans forward to fist bump first Erik and then Charles.

Emma looks up briefly from her phone, mouth curled up slightly in a sly smirk, like she's amused by a joke she doesn't deign to share with anyone else. But that's sort of one of her default expressions, along with 'vaguely bored,' so Erik's used to it by now.

Hank, though—huh. Hank's glanced up from his oatmeal and is looking at Charles, forehead wrinkled seriously. When Erik glances over, Charles is looking back at Hank, too.

Erik's had enough silent telepathic conversations with Charles to be able to recognize when someone else is doing the same thing.

After a couple seconds, Hank nods and turns back to his tray.

"I'm gonna grab more juice," Erik says abruptly. To Charles, he says, "You want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks," Charles says, smiling.

Erik takes longer than he needs to at the beverage dispenser. It gives him some time to stare at the shiny metal and work through his thoughts before he does something dumb.

By something dumb, he mostly means punching Hank.

That's dumb. It's _really_ dumb. Even putting aside the fact that Charles has told him multiple times that he thinks it's obnoxious and immature when Erik gets into fights—especially in fights about Charles—Erik doesn't even have a reason to fight Hank.

He still wants to, though.

Oh, god, Erik is _jealous_ of Hank. He's jealous of Hank because Hank and Charles used to date. That doesn't even make sense! Erik wasn't jealous of him when he and Charles were actually dating--half the time he forgot Charles was dating anybody at all. And Charles specifically told him he and Hank were better as friends, _and_ that he's in love with Erik.

But...Hank knows the way Charles' voice gets all rough when he's close. He knows the way Charles bites his lip too hard when he's trying to keep quiet. He knows just how soft the skin on the inside of Charles' thighs is. Erik is the only one who should know those things.

If Erik feels that way, he can't help but wonder how Charles must feel, knowing how many guys Erik's been with.

Once he thinks he's managed to talk himself down a little from his ridiculousness, Erik returns to the table with his juice.

Armando's freshman boyfriend has joined the others. He and Armando are curled up close, and the boyfriend's chattering away about how he's thinking of finally declaring a major.

Charles is nodding along, looking interested, but as soon as Erik sits down again, he reaches out to hold Erik's hand.

_Don't be stupid,_ Charles warns him.

_I don't know what you're talking about,_ Erik says. Charles squeezes his hand tight.

"Armando," Charles says, at a break in the conversation. "Would you please kick Erik for me? He knows why."

Armando does as he's told. Erik glares at him.

"I'd think you guys were moving a little fast if you hadn't asked me to do that about a dozen times before this over the past few years," Armando says. It doesn't help Erik's desire to glare at him.

"Sssh," Charles hums and strokes Erik's knuckles with his thumb. Erik is a little embarrassed by how easily it placates him. 

_I'll smack you around a little later,_ Charles says. _Hank of all people. Mind, we were having_ quite _a bit of sex, so, I can sort of understand the impulse...._

Charles grins at him. It's an expression Erik has never seen before, something between his frequent smugness and the look he was giving Erik last night right before he first started playing with Erik's nipple rings. Erik is torn between being annoyed and wanting to rip Charles' clothes off again.

"You're kind of an asshole," Erik says.

Apparently the rest of the table had picked up another conversation that he was interrupting, because they all stop talking and turn to look at him.

Oh well. It isn't the first time he and Charles' telepathic conversation had interrupted the others'. It won't be the last.

"I am," Charles allows. "And I need to go see Dr. Black. I'll meet you in the library after?"

"Okay," Erik says, sighing. Usually Erik used boyfriends to kill the time when Charles was busy; now that Charles _is_ his boyfriend, he'll have to find something else to do. Maybe he'll try and talk Armando and Emma into starting a band with him again.

"Don't do anything that's going to make me angry later," Charles says pointedly, and rolls out from the table. 

"Fine," Erik mutters. He grabs Charles' hand and pulls him closer, close enough that Erik can kiss him before he goes.

And then again.

And before he can kiss Charles a third time, Charles covers Erik's mouth with his fingers.

"I'm going to be late," he says. He's flushed and his smile has gone crooked. "I'll see you later."

Erik watches Charles leave until the elevator doors close around him, then he turns back to his half-eaten breakfast and wrinkles his nose. 

"Wait, did they just kiss?" Armando's boyfriend asks. "Did that finally fucking happen?"

"Yeah, you missed the big announcement," Armando says. 

Erik flips them off and focuses on his cereal.

When he finishes his breakfast and what's left of Charles', he's not sure what to do with himself. Playing chess online or seeing who's in the lounge for a round of Mario Kart or Halo seems a lot less fun without Charles. He could get a jump start on his homework, but it's _Friday_. He has no classes today and all weekend to do work. In the end, he goes back to his room to do a few loads of laundry and seriously consider how he can talk Armando and Emma into starting a band that only practices when Charles is in class. Although, maybe Charles would want to come to some practices. That could be hot. Maybe Charles would think it was hot. 

He lets that thought chase him out of the laundry room and over to the library, with a quick stop in his room to dump his freshly dried laundry and pick up his bag. By the time he gets to their corner, Charles is already waiting. He seems immersed in studying--his shirt sleeves are rolled up and he looks distracted, his hair askew the way it gets when he absently runs his hands through it while reading. He has his tablet on the table in front of him and when he sees Erik, he smiles. It feels like the sun coming out. It makes Erik's insides twist. He smiles back automatically.

"Hi," Charles says, and crooks a finger until Erik comes close enough for a kiss. "You know I hate to do this to you," he says once Erik has taken a step back, "but could you fetch some books with me?"

Charles didn't hate to ask Erik's help for Erik's sake as much as he hated having to ask in the first place, Erik knew.

"Sure," Erik says. "Lead the way."

He follows Charles through the stacks, to a part of the bio section way off in the northeast corner. Charles stops at the end of the shelves, almost against the wall, and nods upwards. "Brown and Hayashi should be on the top shelf, and then Novak on the next one down."

The second-to-highest shelf is right at Erik's eyeline, but the very top shelf is a little high. He should probably go fetch one of the library footstools to climb up to reach the other books, but it seems easier to just go up and his toes and stretch as far as he can for them. 

He turns back to Charles with the books in his arms, feeling faintly triumphant, but he stops still at the look on Charles' face. 

"You were totally just checking me out, weren't you," Erik says.

"What?" Charles' cheeks start to go red. "I was not."

"You totally were!" Erik says. He has to bite his lip to keep from smirking too badly. 

"Well—I mean—" Charles starts defensively. "Maybe a little, but that's your own fault. I mean—seriously, when we talked about underwear this morning, did you mean today, too?"

The flush is all the way down to the collar of his shirt now. Last night he'd gotten it all the way down his chest, too. Erik wonders if that's happening again. 

Fuck, what are they doing in the library, anyway? They could be having sex _right now_. They could have been having sex _this entire time_.

Erik sets the pile of books carefully down on one of the shelves and climbs up on the wheelchair to straddle Charles' lap.

"You are—" Charles says, sounding helpless. "You're...ridiculous, you're ridiculous. You're fucking obscene. You can't just walk around looking like that, how am I supposed to get anything done?"

Erik interrupts him with another kiss.

It's not nearly as quiet or pseudo-chaste as the ones this morning. This is—this is dirty. Charles' tongue, _goddamn._

Charles' hands start out on Erik's hips, holding on so tight Erik almost thinks he can hear something creaking, but after a little while he moves one of his hands between them so he can rub at Erik's hard-on through his jeans.

"Oh, fuck," Erik says, tearing his mouth away and resting his forehead against Charles'. He looks down at Charles' forearm working between them, strong and muscled and veined, moving so casually. Like he's just exploring, getting to know this new part of Erik.

_Fuck, you're big_ , Charles says, and it's quiet enough that Erik's not actually sure if Charles meant for him to hear it. He kind of suspects not, and that's enough to make him feel a little more sure of himself.

He leans in to whisper in Charles' ear. "You like it, right? How big my dick is?" 

"If that's your idea of dirty talk, we need to have a discussion about this," Charles says breathlessly, but Erik knows better, because he can feel how shaky Charles is beneath him, how much he's into this. It's even better when Erik sucks his earlobe into his mouth, nibbling gently, and Charles makes this tiny keening noise.

"Mmm," Charles says, but then, abruptly, "no, wait, stop—"

"What?" Erik says blankly, a second before he hears the footsteps coming. He turns his head just in time to see Moira turning down the aisle towards them.

There's not enough time for Erik to get off Charles' lap—and actually, that would be a bad idea, anyway, considering the state of his pants. Instead he just sort of freezes like a deer in the headlights.

Moira freezes, too, but only for a second, and then she's bursting into laughter.

"Yes, hello, Moira," Charles says. He sounds long-suffering.

"Hello to you, too, Charles," Moira says, still laughing hysterically.

Erik buries his head against Charles' shoulder. Charles strokes his hand gently down Erik's back.

Erik's not embarrassed. He doesn't get embarrassed. He just...doesn't want to look at Moira ever again. 

Of _course_ it would be Moira, too, of all the people in the world.

"I guess congratulations are in order?" Moira continues, once she's gotten herself back under control. 

"Of a sort," Charles says. Erik knows he should turn around and scowl or tell Moira off, but, fuck, this seems much easier. Charles thinks this is way too funny—shouldn't he be freaking out? His ex-girlfriend basically walked in on him giving his best friend a handjob in public. Erik would be freaking out.

Erik maybe is freaking out.

"Oh, come on, Lehnsherr," Moira says. "Tit for tat—literally. You saw my tits. It's really karmic justice that I found you. At least you're wearing your clothes."

This was...true. And that had been embarrassing too, shit, walking into Charles' room and with no warning, there was Moira, sitting on Charles' lap with her...breasts...just...out there. He'd definitely freaked out. And then tried very hard to repress the memory forever.

Or very nearly forever. Because now he's thinking about it again, the look on Charles' face while he was feeling up Moira, and girls don't do anything for him and never have, but _Charles_. Shit. Okay. New plan. Get to a bed as soon as possible.

He clears his throat and forces himself to turn around without moving off of Charles. He can feel how red his face is, but tries to act like like it's not a big deal. Moira isn't exactly going for it, based on her expression, but as long as she doesn't say anything, he can pretend.

"Oh my god," Moira says. "Okay, okay. So, Charles, we're getting coffee after class next week and you're going to tell me all the sordid details on how Mr. Clueless finally figured it out. For now I'll...leave you to...whatever it was you were doing, I don't really want to know." She gives them a sloppy salute and turns around to head out of the stack, bursting out laughing again as she goes. Erik glares at her back, but it's no use. And it's really just a distraction from his new plan.

"Charles," Erik says, turning back to him, "if you don't want me to strip you right here, it's, like, vitally important we get to a bed as soon as possible."

Charles eyes the stack of books on the shelf for a moment, and Erik counters that by rubbing up against Charles, grinding his erection against Charles' stomach. Charles' breath stutters in his chest.

"Get my bag and let's go," Charles murmurs, his eyes dark and hot.

Erik gets his bag and they go.


	11. then

The summer science program at Columbia was everything Charles wanted and more. Not only was it a completely engrossing series of experiments and lectures, but Charles shared a lab bench with a girl named Lilandra, a honest to god princess (well, like, twentieth in line for the throne) in a little European country he'd barely heard of. She was brilliant and a genius when it came to astronomy and ornithology. She was funny and pretty and after two weeks of spending all their days together, the last week of the program they spent all their nights together as well.

Charles wasn't sure he could make a long distance relationship last, especially one that was _so_ distant. Lili was currently attending Oxford, and while Oxford had been a dream of Charles' since he was a boy, he figured he wouldn't end up there until grad school, and three years was, realistically, a long time to wait.

Especially given that less than a week after the Columbia program ended, Charles was on his way to Erik's for two weeks with the Lehnsherrs. Erik made it easy to forget everyone else.

Charles was still nervous about meeting Erik's family. After all, given how well he knew Erik, he was fairly certain Erik had just dumped this in their lap as a done deal, and he wouldn't blame them for being a little ambivalent towards having this stranger stuck in their house for weeks.

But the welcome they gave him soothed a lot of his initial fears. Mr. and Mrs. Lehnsherr and Ruth all seemed genuinely excited to have him there, oddly enough, and Mrs. Lehnsherr even gave him a thorough hug before Erik shooed them all away.

"Charles has been traveling all day, let him get some rest," Erik said pointedly, picking up Charles' luggage. "Come on, Charles, I'll show you your room."

Charles followed Erik through the house—it was immediately evident where the changes had been made, and Charles was struck yet again by how much effort Erik had put into this, just to have Charles come stay with him for a couple weeks.

"This is it," Erik said, leading him into a room down the hall from the kitchen. "It used to be sort of a combination den/office/my mom's sewing room, but it's yours while you're here. You have to let me know what else you need."

"It looks great," Charles said. The room was pretty spare, but there was a dresser, a daybed, a nightstand, even a few shelves. He couldn't imagine anything else he'd need.

Erik flopped himself across the daybed as Charles began sorting his stuff. So much for letting Charles get some sleep. Not when there was catching up to do.

"I'm so stoked you're here," Erik said. "This is so awesome."

Charles smiled. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

"So I have to work tomorrow and Tuesday," Erik said, "which I know sucks, so sorry about that, but I'll be home around five both days. And then I have the next week and a half off to dedicate to us."

"I'm sure I'll find some way to amuse myself during the day," Charles promised.

Erik ended up sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor, instead of up in his own room. He fell asleep before Charles did, and Charles stayed up a while, lamp still on, watching Erik doze. Most people looked peaceful when they were asleep, Charles was pretty sure, but not Erik. Erik looked like he was arguing with somebody, or maybe fighting, or sometimes even like he was gloriously pleased, but he never looked peaceful. Never anything like neutral.

"You dummy," Charles said out loud, smiling, and as he turned off the light he honestly didn't know if he meant Erik or himself.

Charles woke up early enough to have breakfast with Erik and his parents before they all headed out to work. If nothing else, it would have been worth it solely for the chance to see Erik dressed up in his work clothes. Charles couldn't contain his gleeful expression as soon as Erik entered the kitchen after his shower.

Erik glared at him. "Don't say a word," he warned, crossing the kitchen to get a banana and pour himself a cup of coffee.

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Charles lied.

"Say a word about what?" Mrs. Lehnsherr asked. She was sitting at the table next to Charles, spreading jam on toast. 

"Charles wants to make some smart comments about my outfit," Erik said, leaning back against the counter.

"I think you look very handsome like that, Erik," Mrs. Lehnsherr said.

"I think he does, too." 

Erik glared at him again for that, but Charles was actually completely sincere. Erik's hair was combed back nicely, all of his ear piercings except one were out, and he was wearing a clean, pressed button-up shirt, neat slacks, and an actual real-life tie around his neck. He looked simultaneously amazing and completely ridiculous and un-Erik-like, and not even the scuffed Chucks still on his feet could quite dispel the image.

"I think he looks like a square," Ruth piped up. She was curled up in another one of the chairs in her pajamas, feet on the seat and knees up to her chest, hands cradling her own mug of coffee like she was afraid someone might try and snatch it. Her bedhead was spectacular. When Charles had asked her why she was awake so early, she had groaned and told him it was the curse of the overachiever. "I get up at five-thirty every day during the school year. No matter how hard I try to sleep in, my internal clock rebels by seven. It's a cruel fate."

Charles liked her immediately.

"Do you have any plans for the day, Charles?" Mr. Lehnsherr asked him. He was doing a crossword puzzle at the table, from a book instead of the newspaper. The ones in the newspaper got too difficult during the week, he had told Charles, but the collection in the book was all Mondays, so he could do them in pen. 

"Not really," Charles admitted. "I guess just hang out, maybe read a little. I promised my girlfriend I'd call her at some point."

The spike of disappointment and surprise he felt from Erik's parents and sister at that startled him. Erik, of course, continued sipping his coffee with no reaction whatsoever.

_Erik_ , Charles thought very carefully, _did your family think we're dating?_

_Why on earth would they think that?_ Erik replied. 

_Just...curious,_ Charles said and tried to push it out of his mind, even as Mr. and Mrs. Lehsnherr exchanged looks over their coffee.

Erik worked in his mother's office, so he left with her not long after, and Mr. Lehnsherr left shortly after that. Soon, it was just Ruth and Charles alone in the kitchen, picking at the last of their breakfast.

"I don't want to get in your way," Charles said to Ruth. "I'm sure you have big vacation plans that don't involve entertaining your brother's friend."

"My big vacation plans are starting off with an entire season of _Project Runway_ that I had to miss," Ruth said. "And knowing Erik, I'm sure you—"

Charles' love of competitive reality television must have been showing on his face, because Ruth's eyebrows rose when she looked over at him.

"—uh, but if you're not a butt like Erik and you actually enjoy a good walk-off, feel free to join me," she finished.

"I should shower and get dressed first," Charles said.

"Uh, why?" she asked. "It's vacation!"

Charles couldn't really argue with that.

Charles and Ruth watched four episodes of Project Runway back to back. By the end of the second, Ruth was adding Charles as a Facebook friend on her phone. By the end of the fourth, she was pausing the DVR so rummage through the bookshelves for old family albums.

"He'll probably be pissed you showed it to me," Charles said, watching as she stood on her toes to reach the volume she was looking for.

"Being pissy with me is Erik's default state," Ruth said. "He's my brother, it's his job to be an asshole. And you're going to thank me once you see this."

The photo album finally came away in her hands and she rushed back over to the sofa. Charles ignored the buzzing of his phone—likely a text from Erik—and leaned over as she opened to a ruddy-cheeked five year old Erik in a sheep costume. Charles would recognize that put-out expression anywhere.

"Oh my god," he said faintly. "I mean, oh my god."

"But wait!" Ruth crowed. "There's more!" She flipped several pages ahead to show him Erik around the same age in a Big Bird swimsuit making exactly the same expression. On the same page was Erik passed out asleep with his thumb halfway in his mouth, clutching a stuffed dog. On the page next to it was Erik holding a finger painting and beaming up at a handsome man in his early twenties.

"That was Mr. Miles," Ruth said. "Our kindergarten teacher. Mom says Erik came home from school the very first day and told her he was gonna marry Mr. Miles."

Charles reached out and brushed his finger over the edge of the photo, covered in a plastic sheet.

"Of course he did," Charles said. "You know, it's hard, sometimes, to imagine him as anything other than bullheaded and 100% sure of himself. I'm not surprised to see he really has always been that way."

"Yeah," Ruth said. "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it. He was like, super gay forever, everyone says, never even pretended to like girls or anything, but even after he came out in middle school, he didn't actually like, date anyone until practically the end of high school. Which, whatever, it's his business, but we were all just kind of patiently waiting, you know?"

Charles knew from patiently waiting, yes.

"Well, if he didn't date much in high school, he's certainly making up for it now," Charles said, then cringed. "Sorry, you're his sister, you probably didn't want to hear that."

"Nah, I follow him on Facebook," Ruth said. "I know what he's like." She glanced at Charles and then inspected the fraying edge of the photo album with a little more scrutiny than it probably needed. "We kind of...assumed that you guys were dating, actually. Um, he talks about you a lot. In fact, when he was home for spring break, you were basically all he talked about. And then he was like, making plans with Dad to fix the house so you could visit? So we kind of, uh, thought that maybe...." She trailed off.

"No," Charles said, somewhere between casual and resigned. "We're not dating. Contrary to the assumption of everyone who's ever met us."

"That's cool," Ruth said. "I'm glad he has a friend. Because...Erik's never really had friends before. He had like, lackeys."

"That doesn't entirely surprise me," Charles said, on steadier ground. "If only based on his friendship cultivation techniques."

"Friendship cultivation techniques?" Ruth repeats.

"The very first day of our shared class last semester, he got up and...oh, I hardly remember what he was saying—" A lie, a complete lie, Charles had an eidetic memory. "He was using very outdated science to argue mutant superiority. And I couldn't help myself, I had to interject and correct him. And he just...followed me out of class and back to my dorm, asking me a million questions. He took my phone and gave me his number and decided we were getting dinner together and would be hanging out later that night. He followed me around everywhere for weeks and...well, your brother has a personality as big as any room he's in. I gave in eventually."

'Eventually.' He gave in within hours, completely smitten. But Ruth doesn't need to know that.

"Awwww," Ruth said. "He imprinted on you like a little baby duck!"

"You're not wrong, but I wouldn't say that to his face," Charles said, holding back a laugh.

"Are you kidding? It's the first thing I'm going to say to him when he gets home tonight."

Charles did laugh at that. Ruth was immensely pleased with herself.

"I'm not sure whether to drag out the next album already or ration them out for you. We seriously have, like, a billion pictures of his bar mitzvah party, I'm not even joking. Or maybe I should talk to Erik first, see what I can extort out of him in exchange for you not seeing his middle school haircut."

"I'm pretty sure Erik doesn't negotiate with terrorists," Charles said, but Ruth still looked thoughtful.

Charles' phone buzzed again, and this time he picked it up. As expected, there were two texts from Erik. The latest one was just a sad emoji face and an accusation that Charles had fallen back asleep. The older one was a selfie, taken in what looked like a generic office bathroom. Erik was making a face into the camera that was obviously supposed to be bored and resigned. The caption read _help i'm being taken over by a pod person_.

"Is he really just sending you pictures of himself?" Ruth said curiously from over Charles' shoulder. "I mean, sorry, I didn't mean to intrude or anything," she added, scooting away a little on the couch.

"It's fine," Charles said. "And, yes, he does that. But to be fair, I send him pictures of myself sometimes, too." Not nearly as often, granted. Erik was dramatic, and somehow along with that went the conviction that words could not always do his emotions justice, at which point he had to resort to face-making. The puppy eyes were a favorite, when he was trying to convince Charles to go out somewhere.

Charles actually had a folder on his phone where he'd saved the selfies Erik had sent him and even a few from Erik's Instagram. The folder was labeled "nature backgrounds" and the first five pictures were decoy wallpaper patterns with frogs and leaves and fractals. Charles wasn't super proud of that.

Erik and his mother got home a few minutes after five, just as he'd promised. Charles and Ruth had taken a brief recess to actually change out of their pajamas and wash themselves around lunchtime, but otherwise they hadn't moved from their positions on the couch. Erik headed straight for them, settling heavily between them and slinging his long legs up and across Charles' lap and the couch's arm.

"Erik," Ruth said, "Charles is great."

"Well, duh," Erik said, loosening his tie and beginning to unbutton and roll up his cuffs. "I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually. Like, a million times."

"Yeah, but I didn't believe you," Ruth said reasonably. "Why would someone great be friends with you? Actually, why _are_ you friends with him?" she added, directing the question at Charles. "Seriously, it doesn't make sense. Are you sure you're not actually a friendbot Erik built?"

Charles couldn't keep in his snort. "I'm pretty sure if Erik had was going to build himself a companion, it, ah." How to put it delicately? "It would probably be more of a, you know, boyfriendbot."

"Okay, ewwwwww," Ruth said, wrinkling her nose. "...But yeah, you're probably right."

Erik made a considering noise in his throat. There was a look in his eyes Charles didn't entirely trust.

"Erik. You can't actually make yourself a robot boyfriend," Charles said. He would have thought that was the sort of thing that didn't actually need to be said out loud, but apparently not.

"I mean, I was captain of the battle bot team in high school, you know," Erik told him with a hint of earnestness.

"No," Charles said firmly.

"Ugh. Fine." Erik slumped down farther into the cushion. He was taking up more than his fair share of space, and Ruth nudged him heavily with her elbow when he started to lean over to her side. He ignored her. "I bet a robot boyfriend wouldn't text me all the fucking time, though. Did I tell you, Charles, Dom won't leave me alone? I don't know what his fucking problem is. School's been out for _weeks_."

"I mean..." Charles said. "Did you ever actually break up with him?"

Erik stared at him blankly for a second. "Shit." 

He swung his legs off of Charles and sat up rapidly, dragging his phone out of his back pocket.

"I was so busy working on the house with Dad I totally forgot," Erik said. He started typing, reading aloud under his breath while he wrote. " _Stop asking me to hang out_."

A response came back almost immediately, then three more in rapid succession. Erik looked torn between disgust and confusion.

" _No,_ " he muttered as he typed again, " _I don't want you to play hard to get, I want you to stop texting me and leave me alone._ "

Less than a minute passed before a new flood of texts came. Charles counted at least six buzzes, but it's possible they were coming too fast for the phone to keep up. Erik just sighed and shoved the phone at Charles.

"Why does this always happen? I specifically told him to stop texting me," Erik said.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Charles asked, holding up the phone.

"I don't know," Erik said. "Make him stop."

Charles thumbed through the last few messages, which were all embarrassingly desperate pleas for Erik to give the boy another chance. Charles would have felt bad for him, if he hadn't been such a dick while he was dating Erik. Intellectually, he understood why so many of Erik's boyfriends blew him off and treated him like dirt, but that didn't stop it from being annoying as it was happening. This wasn't the first time Erik had asked Charles to deal with someone who couldn't handle being dumped, so Charles was well-versed in the best way to fix it. He shot off a couple messages to Dom. _Please stop texting me, we're officially broken up. I hope you can use your summer to find someone new._ Then he flipped to Erik's settings and blocked Dom's number. At least now Erik wouldn't have to deal with getting texts from him.

He handed Erik the phone back.

"Done," he said.

"You're seriously my favorite," Erik said. "I'm going to throw you the fucking best birthday ever."

It was then that Mrs. Lehnsherr chose to step into the living room, which made Charles wonder how much of their conversation she was listening to from the kitchen.

"Dinner will be in half an hour, so start washing up," she told them. "And Charles, I'm going shopping tomorrow night after work. What kind of birthday cake would you like?"

"I..." Charles trailed off, his jaw hanging slightly open. He'd known the Lehnsherrs for less than a day. He absolutely didn't expect them to pay any mind to his birthday. He hardly paid any mind to it at this point. "You don't have to make me a cake," he finally managed to say.

"Of course you're going to have a cake on your birthday," Mrs. Lehnsherr said. "Don't be ridiculous. I can do anything you'd like, I just need to know what to pick up at the store."

"I...honestly, I'm sure whatever you want to make would be fine, and you really don't have to—"

"He really likes raspberries," Erik said before Charles could finish. "You know that one that's like, white cake, with the lemon pudding stuff and raspberries? I think he'd like that."

"You really don't need to!" Charles tried one last time. "Or, if you just want to pick something up from the store—"

"Feh!" Mrs. Lehnsherr said. She eyed Erik. "Lemon raspberry?" she asked. Erik nodded. "I trust you, if only because I know if you were angling for your favorite, you'd tell me chocolate whipped cream."

"That sounds good too!" Charles said a little desperately.

"Lemon raspberry it is," Mrs. Lehnsherr said. "You boys make all the plans you need to—just let me know when you'd like cake. Dinner's in half an hour!"

She ducked back into the kitchen after that, before Charles could protest any further.

"Never try to talk Mom out of cake," Ruth said. "Especially on your birthday. Mom loves birthdays."

"Plus," Erik added, "you totally deserve a birthday cake, and anything my mom makes is way better than the store, anyway."

"Totally," Ruth said. Apparently there was one thing the two of them agreed on. She got off the couch and stretched. "I should actually answer Annie's emails, I guess. I'll see you guys at dinner." 

Once she was gone, Erik shifted positions so his head was lying in Charles' lap and his legs were stretched out over the length of the couch. He looked tired and thoughtful, but mostly Charles was struck by how still he was. Erik, it seemed, was always moving. Even when they were studying or sitting in the library he was tapping his fingers on the desk or spinning a coin in the air or curling a bit of wire between his fingers. 

"A sexbot would be useful," Erik said after a moment, and Charles actually groaned.

"It was a joke!" he said. "You do need some human interaction, you know."

"That's why I have you," Erik said, and Charles gave in to the impulse to run his fingers through Erik's hair. Good behavior deserved a reward, after all—Erik for saying something so sweet and Charles for not jumping him immediately after hearing it.

"You can't build a sexbot," Charles said firmly.

Erik shrugged, or as near as he could manage, sprawled out on Charles like he was.

"Wouldn't be that much different from the guys I date," he said. He didn't sound resigned or upset or even smug. He said it as if it was just an inconsequential observation.

Charles had teased Erik occasionally about his abhorrent taste in men. He rolled his eyes at the particularly theatrical ones and made a few comments in passing about the generic predictability of Erik's tastes. They never really talked about it, though. Charles' reasons for not bringing it up were personal—the less he reminded himself that Erik was dating a string of indistinguishable idiots who weren't him, the better. Erik just honestly didn't seem to care that much. It was like their presence in his life wasn't even important to him.

Charles couldn't help but ask the question, sitting in Erik's parents' living room, with Erik's head pillowed on his thighs.

"Why do you date those guys?" he asked softly. "You don't even seem to like them very much."

He didn't expect Erik to take the question seriously, but Erik actually paused for a while, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "I don't know," he said finally. "They like me. And I like sex. And...it's convenient, I guess. Easier than the alternative."

Erik shrugged again.

"Erik," Charles said. "Hey." He scratched Erik's scalp with his fingertips, and Erik shifted a little until he was looking at Charles' face. "You deserve better, you know."

"Whatever," Erik said. "I'm happy. I don't need better, Charles. I've got everything I need already."

"Hmm," Charles said, but he didn't say anything else, and neither did Erik. Erik turned his head again, resting his cheek against Charles' thigh, and Charles stroked his fingers through Erik's hair until Mrs. Lehnsherr called them in for dinner.

Erik fell asleep on Charles' floor again, around two or three am. He spent most of the next morning sending Charles whiny texts about how tired he was. Charles hung around with Ruth for a while, but when she left to meet up with one of her friends, Charles had the house to himself.

He wandered through the first floor. It was a nice house, just really—well, normal. It seemed strange to think of Erik growing up here, that this was the place that formed the boy Charles knew and loved. There were more pictures on the mantelpiece in the living room, and Charles stopped and studied them carefully. 

The centermost picture was clearly one of Mr. and Mrs. Lehnsherr's wedding photos, the two of them beaming in the middle of a sunny glade in formal clothes. They didn't look much older than Erik and Charles, really. Mrs. Lehnsherr was holding a bouquet and her hair was much longer and darker than it was now. Mr. Lehnsherr didn't have his bushy mustache yet, and without it, it was obvious just how much Erik took after him.

The next picture looked like a Sears portrait, maybe. Grade-school-aged Erik and Ruth were dressed in matching sweaters. Ruth was grinning, gap-toothed and sunny, but Erik's smile looked entirely fake, his crankiness clearly shining through. Charles felt sorry for the photographer who'd had to deal with him.

There was another picture of Ruth, maybe a year or two younger than now, posing with their parents as she held a framed certificate. Some kind of award, probably; she looked excited and the Lehnsherrs both looked proud. 

The last photograph—oh, man. The last photo was Erik's prom photo and Charles stared at it for a while in a combination of fascination and affection. Erik's hair looked like he had cut it himself, his posture was terrible, and his tux didn't fit that well. He was posing awkwardly with a shorter boy with a matching corsage. He looked painfully adolescent—but still _Erik_ , still recognizably Charles' Erik. Charles felt like if he looked at it long enough maybe the clothes would transform and Erik's mouth would open to let ridiculous political slogans start falling out.

The vibration of his phone startled him out of his study of the picture. Instead of another text from Erik like he was expecting, though, it was an email notification. From Lili, whom—Charles realized with a sinking feeling—not only had he not called yesterday like he promised, but he hadn't really even thought about since mentioning her to everyone at breakfast.

Charles felt guilty enough to spend the next hour writing her a really long, overly detailed email, though before he sent it he went through again and edited out twenty-five percent of the mentions of Erik. The amount of references still seemed possibly excessive, but any more editing and Charles suspected the entire thing would be incoherent.

"We're going out tonight," Erik announced as soon as he got home that evening. He was significantly more energetic than the night before, with the knowledge that he had the next week to devote solely to hanging out with Charles.

"Where are we going?" Charles said, amused.

"Anywhere you want!" Erik said.

They ended up driving around aimlessly in Erik's car for a few hours. Eventually they parked along some of the back roads and smoked up (Erik would never dare to smoke or drink in his parents' house, but that didn't mean he was going to spend the entire summer teetotaling, either), looking at the stars and talking for a long time until Erik was sober enough to get them back home. 

Erik loved his car. Like, seriously loved it. If Charles was secure in the knowledge that he was more important to Erik than any of his boyfriends could ever be, Erik's car was maybe the one thing on Earth he sometimes thought might challenge his place in Erik's affections. Erik had saved up for it with the money from his summer job the last two years of high school and bought it right before he left for college. It was an old, crappy-looking thing; by visuals alone Charles would have had no confidence in it whatsoever. Erik had done a ton of work on it, though, tweaking and honing all the various machinery parts with his powers. He'd explained it all to Charles a million times, but since Charles didn't actually care about cars, he hadn't really been able to follow.

They spent a lot of time in Erik's car during Charles' visit. Even on the days that they had the house to themselves, they seemed to gravitate towards driving through the winding back roads of town, finding new places to stop for coffee or lunch. Charles hadn't imagined there was anything more the two of them could talk about after living in each other's back pockets for a year, but they were constantly uncovering new stories, anecdotes about their childhoods and lives. One afternoon when they were having lunch two towns over with a six-pack they managed to buy from a hole-in-the-wall liquor store with Erik's fake ID, Charles finally teased the story of Erik's prom out of him. Another evening, spent sitting in the parking lot at the edge of the lake, Charles found himself repaying the favor by telling Erik all about his disastrous junior year Homecoming dance.

There were other conversations, too. Something about the quiet hum of the car and the dark of the backroads made it easy to open up about things—he'd already told Erik a little about his mother and Kurt and life growing up under their roof, but it was somehow easier to trip through the details in the car. It was like they were in their own little bubble. It was...intimate. For Erik too, he knew. For the first time since that night after break, Erik spoke again of Sebastian Shaw and the torturous counseling sessions he endured in middle school and early high school.

Erik slept in his room again that night. He did most nights, actually. It couldn't be comfortable and Charles told him several times that he would be fine if Erik actually wanted to sleep in a bed, but even on the nights Erik swore he'd head up before he nodded off, he seemed unfazed by sleeping on the ground. By the second week of Charles' trip, Mrs. Lehnsherr had put a sleeping bag and a bedroll in the corner, though Erik still mostly slept conked out in a nest of blankets and pillows, lying flat on his face.

It was a nice escape from home, wiling his days away with Erik. The Lehnsherrs nearly adopted him by the end of the first week—Mrs. Lehnsherr insisted he call them by their first names if he wouldn't call her "Mama," and hugged him every evening when she said good night. Mr. Lehnsherr knew a little bit about all sorts of things and was eager to ask Charles questions about things that he read in the "Science" section of the _Times_. Ruth and Charles had half a dozen interests in common, the least of which was riling up Erik, and she made more than one comment about time-sharing Charles for his next visit so that they could marathon Netflix and talk about Harry Potter.

It was weird. It was different. Charles' father, once upon a time, had been just the slightest bit more interested in Charles than his mother was, but he'd been dead since Charles was six. When Kurt and Raven and Cain came to live with them, Charles gained an ally and a sister in Raven, but also a lesson in the difference between cruelty and neglect from Kurt. They never had a home life like this—Mother never asked him about his day, Kurt never showed an interest in what he was studying, and when Cain picked on him, it was bullying rather than teasing.

He liked it. The idea of leaving was already weighing on him. He wished he could spend the rest of the summer just like this: chatting with Mr. Lehnsherr over coffee, comparing notes on books with Ruth, soaking up the sun with Erik during the day, and being doted on by Mrs. Lehnsherr at night.

And his birthday—when he was young, his mother had thrown him elaborate birthday parties as was expected of the mothers in her social group. Once he hit thirteen, his birthday became just another day to everyone but Raven. At the Lehnsherrs', though, as with everything else, it was different. 

Ruth woke him and Erik up first thing, banging on the door to Charles' room and then blasting the Beatles' "Birthday" at ear-splitting volume. When Erik finally opened the door, a single hand emerging from his pile of blankets to gesture vaguely at the metal doorknob, she danced inside with a wrapped present and a card.

"Happy birthday, Charles!" she exclaimed. She flopped onto the edge of the bed and handed him the gift and card.

"Ruth, this is completely—you really didn't have to do this," he said.

"Uh, I totally did," she said. "I told you, you're awesome. I was 100% afraid that any friend Erik brought home was gonna be like, another mini-Erik. You're so much better."

"Hey," Erik muttered sleepily from the floor. He finally poked his head up from out of his blanket nest and blinked up at them.

"It's true," Ruth said. "Charles is awesome."

"He is," Erik agreed, and burrowed under the blankets again.

Ruth's gift was silly, really—a Doctor Who mug where the TARDIS appeared and disappeared depending on the temperature of the liquid. Still, he loved it and thanked her for it profusely, and the message in her card was sweet. Erik hustled her out as soon as Charles was finished thanking her, but Mrs. Lehnsherr was lurking outside to tell them that birthday pancakes were the order of the day and they should get to the kitchen sooner rather than later or breakfast would be cold.

The difference between birthday pancakes and regular pancakes was, apparently, the addition of a generous amount of rainbow sprinkles to the batter. Charles ate a stack the size of his head. 

Mr. and Mrs. Lehnsherr had a card for him, too, which Mr. Lehnsherr presented to him as Erik starting clearing the table and putting the dishes in the sink to soak. There was a twenty dollar bill inside—"to spend on something fun," Mrs. Lehnsherr explained.

Charles felt a little strange, taking their money—it wasn't as if they seemed to be hard up or anything, but money was the last thing Charles needed, really. He was already staying in their home, eating their food, not contributing anything in return. This gift, on top of everything else—it was just...really touching. 

He was a little choked up, actually, but nobody would understand if he tried to explain why, so he just swallowed it down and thanked them sincerely.

"I'll give you your present when we're alone tonight," Erik said, which sounded just enough like some of Charles' most embarrassing late night thoughts to thoroughly distract him from his overwhelmed feelings, anyway.

He and Erik spent the morning playing SuperMario on the ancient SNES Erik had triumphantly dug out of the attic. For lunch, they drove out five towns over to a burger joint Erik vaguely remembered as being decent when he was twelve. On the way back, Erik stopped at 7-11 to buy them Slurpees and scratch-off lottery tickets, and they drove around for most of the afternoon with the windows down and Erik's loud music blaring, a band Charles actually recognized and liked for once. Every time Charles looked over at him, Erik was looking ahead, singing along or tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Where the sun just left Charles' skin freckled, Erik's skin had slowly turned a deep even tan, and his hair glinted where the reddish highlights stood out.

Charles had never seen Erik smile this much. Not ever.

His birthday cake was just as good as Ruth and Erik assured him. 

"I've never had a homemade birthday cake before," he told Erik, when they were sitting together on his bed after dinner.

"That's a travesty," Erik said. He nudged his shoulder against Charles'. "At least you know you have plenty of them in your future, right?"

Charles blinked rapidly. "Shut up."

"I don't understand why you were so convinced my family wouldn't love you," Erik said, a little exasperated. "I knew they would. They're not dumb, Charles. Not even Ruthie. And I mean, I realize nobody appreciates you the way _I_ do, but still."

"Shut up," Charles said again, laughing this time.

"Hey, do you want your present or not?"

"Yeah, fine, okay," Charles said. "Show me what you've got."

Erik wriggled on the bed, shifting so he could get a hand into his back pocket without actually getting up. It was a little package, maybe the length of Charles' pinkie and almost flat, wrapped up in newspaper.

Erik handed it to him. Charles could feel Erik's eyes on him, expectant and maybe a little nervous, as he started to unwrap it.

It was a small piece of metal—Charles didn't know what kind, exactly—and it was twisted and folded into a small figure. A double helix, Charles realized. It was so finely worked that Charles had to raise it up to his eyes to see half the detailing, and even then he thought he must be missing some.

"You made this?" Charles said, feeling a little awed. "How long did this take you?"

Erik shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal. "I started it during spring break."

"How did you keep it a secret this whole time?"

"You don't know everything about me, you know," Erik said, faux-offended, and Charles laughed again, still feeling ridiculously emotional, and he pulled Erik in a for a long, tight hug.

He ended up staying at Erik's house an extra week. Erik had to go back to work again for those days, but it was still worth it. 

The rest of the summer, back at his own house, seemed extra long and boring in comparison, but it couldn't last forever. Moving back into the dorms felt like coming home again, in a very real way.

He had no idea what sophomore year had in store, but he was pretty sure he was ready to find out.


	12. now

"Don't stop," Charles whispers hoarsely, scratching his blunt nails down Erik's back, "please, Erik, don't stop—"

Erik has no intention of stopping. Erik can't think of a single thing in the world that would make him want to stop right now.

Although, to be fair, there are a lot of things Erik can't think of right now. Like, basically everything that's not Charles, him, and Charles' bed. 

They've been in bed for, fuck, hours probably. It's dark now, and it was just around lunch time when they raced back to Charles' room from the library, Erik awkwardly trying to hide his hard-on by holding his bag in front of his crotch. The moment the door closed they were on top of each other, and it's been that way nearly ever since. They stopped for Pop-Tarts and sodas at some point, but it seems like an age ago. Mostly they've been doing exactly this.

Erik's never really understood the meaning of "insatiable" before. He would get horny and he would have sex and, sure, sometimes he'd be up for round two, but it was never like this. Every kiss, every touch isn't enough. He thinks it won't be enough until he can crawl inside of Charles' skin. Even after he comes, Erik still wants Charles so badly it itches under his skin. The day has been an endless cycle of getting off and kissing and napping and then waking up desperate to do it again.

He might be making up for years of being too obvlious to realize he could have this. Or maybe this is just how it's always going to be—wanting Charles so badly it's all he can think about, all he can focus on, all he can do.

"Erik," Charles says again, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and wrung out. His eyes are dazed and glassy, his mouth stained red, and Erik leans over to kiss him again because he can't help it, he can't stop. His hips stutter where he's fucking into Charles' body, tight and hot and so, so good. Charles might not be hard—and he isn't always, he explained, but that doesn't mean he can't come in other ways—but Erik can tell he's close, so close, from the staccato beat of his heart and the way his nails are digging into Erik's back. Each of his sweet, swift gasps digs into Erik, goes straight to his cock.

Erik is close too, not that it matters. He'll come and Charles will come and they'll fall asleep like this again and in a few hours, they'll do it all over again. That thought is almost enough to send him over on its own, 

"Come on," he whispers to Charles, his hips snapping forward, pushing him even deeper inside. "Come on, come on, I want to see it, I want to see you come, I want to see it every day, now, I want—I want—fuck, _Charles_." He's babbling, the words pouring out of him senselessly. He's rubbing one of Charles' nipples roughly with his thumb and he leans over to kiss Charles' throat, to bite him, to suck on his earlobes which is the closest Erik has come to making him scream.

Erik's going to catalogue Charles' body, find every inch of skin and see how it makes him move and sound and feel. He's going to find a dozen new ways to make Charles feel good. He's going to worship every inch of Charles.

But right now, he's going to make him come, first.

He sucks rhythmically on Charles' earlobe and then switches from rubbing Charles' nipple with the pad of his thumb to scratching it with his nail. He can feel Charles on the brink of orgasm, his body tightening up as Erik fucks into him harder, faster. He bites Charles' earlobe, just a short, sharp nip and that's all he needs. Charles arches his back and opens his mouth, crying out soundlessly. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's beautiful, he's so fucking beautiful, his body tense and strong and hard and perfect in Erik's arms, his ass squeezing Erik's dick, his mind bleeding over into Erik's, a haze of euphoria swelling up and spilling over, guiding Erik's hips through a few last thrusts, hard and fast and desperate as it all becomes too much, too intense, too good, and Erik is coming, leaving bruises on Charles' hips and gasping desperately against Charles' shoulder.

It takes them both long minutes to catch their breath, to untangle their minds, to gather enough strength to move. Erik moves first, by necessity, pulling out of Charles as gently as he can and then rolling onto his side to press up against Charles' hot, sticky skin. He peels off his condom and ties it off, then reaches over his head to drop it in the trash can at the head of the bed. Charles groans and then throws an arm over Erik's chest, his fingers tracing absently along Erik's side.

"That was amazing," Erik murmurs. "Why does it keep being amazing? How does it feel like this every time? How come I can't stop touching you?"

"Are you complaining?" Charles asks, opening one eye.

"No," Erik says. "No, I just—I've never felt this way before. I mean, that's a fucking cliche, I know, but like...." He shrugs and curls closer to Charles. "It's so good. I don't want it to stop."

Unfortunately, his body seems to have other ideas in mind. Before Charles can reply, his stomach growls. Loudly.

Come to think of it, it was still light when they took that Pop-Tart break.

"I agree," Charles says. "With the not wanting it to stop, I mean, but also the hunger pangs. I'm a little worried we've wandered into some fairy dance ridiculousness here."

"Is that an offensive pun?" Erik says.

Charles pokes him hard in the ribs. "Ugh, gross. You know those stories, though, right? You go off with the fairies and it's so great you forget to eat or drink or just keep dancing until you die of exhaustion?" 

Erik presses his lips gently to the slick skin of Charles' bare shoulder. "What time is it? Did we miss supper?" he asks, but instead of waiting for Charles to answer he extends his powers to float over his phone from where he abandoned his bag, barely a step in from Charles' door.

Well. Not only did they miss supper, but they missed it by a long shot. It's well past midnight. 

There are a couple of missed texts from their friends, probably wondering when they didn't show up for dinner or the weekly trip to the mall. Though maybe Moira filled them in on why the two of them were missing, a thought that makes Erik want to wince. Although it's probably just as likely they figured it out themselves.

"Mmm," Charles says, yawning. "New plan, then. Out of bed and out to obtain sustenance. You've used up a lot of energy today, darling. I don't want to overload your stamina."

Erik narrows his eyes. "I'll show you my stamina," he says, pulling Charles in close again to scrape his teeth against Charles' already overly sensitized neck and run his fingertips along Charles' side, light enough to tickle and make Charles giggle and try to push him away.

"Plan," Charles reminds him breathlessly, "we have a _plan_. Come on, get off, now that we're talking about it, I'm starving. It's your boyfriendly duty to drive me to Denny's for crepes."

Erik lets him go with no small reluctance, sitting up and running one hand through the tangled mess his hair has become. He forces himself to look away and around the room, because if he looks down at Charles again, he's definitely not going to make it. 

"Boyfriendly duty, huh?" Erik repeats as he finally rolls out of bed and starts to pull on his jeans. "Is that in the official boyfriend manual?"

"Of course it is," Charles says. "I'm surprised you don't know that already—or, wait, I suppose I'm not, actually." Erik can't help a glance back at that, but Charles has already managed to toss on his own shirt, which at least makes the sight a _tiny_ bit less tempting. Charles catches his eye with a grin and says, "Don't worry, I'll make you a copy."

"Ha, I bet." He drags his shirt over his head, and then sits down at Charles' desk to put on his socks and boots. He weighs the pros and cons of fixing up his suspenders again, before deciding not to bother. 

That's everything, then, all he has to do is grab his bag off the floor and stand by Charles' door. "Are you ready?" he says.

"Do I look ready?" Charles says, which is a fair point, he guesses, since Charles is still technically pantsless. 

"I think you look good," Erik says honestly, which causes Charles to throw a sock at his head.

Once Charles has decided he's decent, they head through the hallways and towards the front of the dorm. It might be the middle of the night, but it's the middle of _Friday_ night; more of the doors they pass have the lights still on than not, and plenty of them have muffled music or voices coming from inside.

It's raining lightly outside, which either of them could have prepared for if they had actually bothered to check their phones. It's a nice rain, though, that kind of warm spring shower that's more oddly refreshing than anything else. Still, they don't linger on their way to the car.

Erik turns on the radio as Charles buckles himself in, running through the stations until he hits a song he knows. 

"You know what's weird?" Erik says, as he backs out of the parking lot. "You've been in my car a million times. You've been in here more than anybody, right? But...this is the first time you've been in it since we figured stuff out. So it feels different but the same at the same time."

Charles doesn't say anything to that for a long enough time that Erik starts to feel kind of weird about it. He takes his eyes off the road to glance over at Charles, only to find that Charles is looking at him, too, with an intense, thoughtful expression.

"What?" Erik says.

"Nothing," Charles says, shaking his head. "I just...I'm just really glad this happened. Is happening."

He reaches out, resting his hand on Erik's knee. As tactile as their friendship has always been, that's not something Erik can remember him ever doing before. Erik likes it—it feels possessive, somehow. Like Charles is putting a claim on him the same way Erik did to him with his hickeys. In the muted green and orange light from the street lamps and the dashboard, Erik watches the long arc of Charles' eyelashes as he blinks. His eyes are so beautiful, even in this shitty half-light. Erik has to kiss him.

He does, just once. He makes himself pull away before he can get too distracted, and refocuses on driving them to Denny's.

The post-midnight Friday crowd at Denny's is always a weird mix of kids from their school, teenagers from the town, and second shift workers just getting off for the night. Tonight is no exception, and the waitress leads them past a few booths of rowdy kids to a table in the corner, handing them sticky plastic menus and and promising to be right back with coffee and water. Just looking at all of the options is reminding Erik of how little he managed to eat all day and when the waitress returns, he and Charles order enough food to feed a dozen people.

Erik's glad for the coffee. As happy as he is with how he spent the day, it was also exhausting. He's looking forward to eating and driving back to campus and passing out until at least lunch time tomorrow.

He and Charles don't talk much while they're waiting for their food. It's not an uncomfortable silence—his silences with Charles have never been uncomfortable—and it feels almost magical. Like they're not talking because they're in on the same secret, content to keep it from the rest of the restaurant. Eventually, Charles rests his head on the table with a massive yawn and Erik reaches across to pet his hair until their food arrives.

"This is insane," Charles says once the table is full.

"How much food we ordered?" Erik says. "We can always take it to go."

"No, idiot," Charles says, swatting at Erik with his fork. "All of this happening. And it happened so fast and—" He laughs. "And I'm exhausted and sore and we probably reek of sex and I swear I've never been happier."

"Me too," Erik says. Charles' smile widens. "And, I don't know about reeking of sex, but you definitely have sex hair."

Charles nearly drops his fork in his haste to feel his hair and then finger comb it down. It really just makes it stick up more. Erik's previous petting probably didn't help much either.

"I knew I should have looked in a mirror before we left," Charles says.

"It looks cute," Erik tells him. Charles ignores him, though, and pulls out his phone to flip on the selfie camera. He frowns at the screen and tries again to tame his hair, then freezes and jerks the phone down further, leaning closer to inspect the picture. He looks up at Erik with one eyebrow raised.

"Are you part vampire?" he asks, tugging down the collar of his t-shirt. Not that he needs to. There are plenty of marks well above the collar to illustrate his point.

"I like your neck," Erik says. He smirks, just to hear Charles make that exasperated noise in the back of his throat before putting his phone down. 

"Smug isn't an attractive look on you, you know," Charles says pointedly as he picks up his fork again, but Erik can't take him seriously.

They're mostly quiet again for the next few minutes, as they both dedicate themselves to working through the piles of food before them. Erik swipes away a last bit of runny egg with a crust of toast and then, deciding he's reached his limit, pushes the plate away from him and sits back with a sigh.

Charles is just about finished, too, by this point. The plate in front of him is mostly empty, a few trails of whipped cream and bits of fruit left behind. As Erik watches, Charles runs his fork across the mess in a lazy pattern, before lifting the fork up to his mouth and licking off the remains of the cream.

Charles is definitely not trying to be sexy, Erik can tell that much. He's not showing off or trying to get Erik to think about his mouth. It's just an absent-minded habit, something he does without even thinking about it.

That doesn't change the fact that Erik finds it _really fucking distracting_.

Erik can tell the exact moment Charles clues in to what Erik's thinking, because Charles' eyes widen suddenly and he lowers the fork back down to the table. "Seriously?"

Erik doesn't get why he still sounds disbelieving. Erik's pretty sure he's made it abundantly clear over the last day the effect Charles has on him.

"I can't help it!" Erik says. "Your mouth is just..." He shakes his head. He's not sure there are words for Charles' mouth, honestly. It's...pretty. Pretty, and lush and full, and really red, like, all the time. 

Charles looks ridiculously pleased with himself, and there's a hint of color high in his cheeks again. He grins at Erik as he picks up a dollop of cream from his plate with his index finger and then sucks his fingertip into his mouth.

"You're _such_ an asshole," Erik groans, covering his face with his hands. 

"I feel kind of drunk with power, honestly," Charles says happily. "It's a new sensation."

Erik groans again.

_Hey_ , Charles says into his mind, a little shyly. _I'll tell you a secret to make it fair, okay? I really like your hands. A lot._

Erik slowly uncovers his face so he can look at Charles. "Yeah?"

Charles nods. He's fiddling with his water glass, tracing around the rim with his fingertip. _They're strong, but elegant too, I guess. I've thought about them quite a bit_.

At some point, Erik is really going to need to figure out exactly how long Charles knew before he did. That doesn't have to be tonight, though. Right now—well, right now Erik is mentally revising the plan of passing out as soon as they get back to campus.

"Do you want to go back to my room now?" Charles says.

"God, yes," Erik says, nodding vigorously.

Charles leaves an obscenely high tip for the waitress and they make their way back into the night, boxes of leftovers stacked on Charles' lap. It's not raining anymore, and the clouds have dispersed enough for the moonlight to peek out, faintly illuminating the parking lot between the streetlights.

"I want to go back to school and to your room as fast as possible," Erik tells Charles as they reach the car, "but there's also this part of me that kind of wants us to get in my car and start driving and just...just keep driving, you and me, as far as we can go until we reach the ocean or the desert or something. You know?"

"You're such a romantic," Charles says, shaking his head.

Erik laughs. "Literally no one has ever accused me of that before."

"That's because they don't know you as well as I do," Charles replies.

Erik keeps one hand on the steering wheel for the drive back, and one hand holding Charles'.

When they get back to the dorm, Charles disappears for a few minutes to the bathroom. Erik takes the time to put away all the food in the mini-fridge by Charles' desk, and fill up a water bottle to place on the nightstand. Finally, he strips down, stacks his clothes in a neat pile on the dresser, and sits down on Charles' bed to wait.

He gazes around the room, feeling a little reflective. He's spent so much time here—every single one of Charles' possessions is almost as familiar to him as his own. He knows every poster on the walls, every book on Charles' shelves, and if he opened up the closet he'd probably know every one of Charles' shirts.

Charles was right, earlier. Things have changed so fast. A day and a half ago, Erik was still trying to figure out a subtle way to gauge Charles' interest. Two and a half weeks ago, Erik had barged in here, ditching Janos immediately after sex to come see if Charles wanted to play chess at ten pm. Everything's different now.

That's a good thing—that's a great thing, it's an un-fucking-believably amazing thing—but it's a little scary, too.

Before Erik can get too caught up in his own brain, Charles returns. "Hey," he says, shutting the door behind him. 

His mouth curls up as he gets a good look at Erik. His gaze is almost like a physical sensation as it runs up and down Erik's body, and Erik can feel his own pulse quicken and his breath come a little shorter.

"Come here," Erik says, outstretching a hand, and Charles comes. He reaches over to start levering himself up onto the bed and Erik says, "I can—can I?"

"Of course," Charles says. He sounds, all at once, breathless. He's flushing again. "Of course, please—"

Erik leans over to help Charles up and one of Charles' arms loops around Erik's neck, using the leverage to pull himself up and on top of Erik. His hands are cool and damp on Erik's back, and as soon as he's settled on Erik's lap, Erik pulls at his shirt until it's off and out of the way and Erik can run his hands over Charles' chest and kiss him. 

Charles tastes sweet, like whipped cream and berries, and he kisses Erik like he knows what he's doing, like he has a plan and Erik can't do anything but follow along after him. 

Erik doesn't see any problem with that. 

"Move just—sit down over here and—" 

Erik lets Charles move him and manipulate him, sitting back where he indicates and letting Charles press his knees apart. It doesn't take him long to figure out what Charles is doing, and he shudders at the thought, even before Charles grabs a condom from the rapidly depleting box on the nightstand and rolls it onto Erik, then deposits himself with his head on Erik's thigh.

"Oh, fuck," Erik croaks.

"You like my mouth?" Charles asks, looking up at Erik, and that sight alone is almost enough to make him come right then.

"Charles," Erik murmurs, clutching at Charles' shoulders.

"You can pull my hair, just don't push," Charles tells him. Erik needs no other encouragement to sink his fingers into Charles' hair. Charles' hair is unfairly soft and Erik used to love to run his fingers through it when they were curled together watching television or smoking up. He wonders if he'll ever be able to do those things again without thinking about it in this context.

Then Charles closes his mouth around Erik's dick and Erik loses the ability to think about anything else. 

He starts slow but not hesitant, his mouth stretched so beautifully around Erik that Erik almost doesn't care how it feels as long as it continues to look this good. Charles' tongue explores the tip of Erik's cock, curling around the circumference and probing beneath the head. He looks almost curious as he moves his mouth further forward, and that shouldn't be so hot, it shouldn't, but Erik can barely control himself. He squeezes his fistfuls of Charles' hair and Charles moans around Erik's dick. It's such a shocking sensation, he almost does it again just to repeat it.

Charles moves slowly downward, his hand curling around the rest of Erik's length as his mouth presses further and further down, sending heat curling in Erik's stomach. Erik's dick is big and he knows it—he's maybe a little more proud of it than he should be, smug about the way some of his exes' eyes have widened upon seeing it for the first time. Still, Charles takes more of it than Erik expects—it must hit the back of his throat, at least, and Erik has to squeeze Charles' hair again and force himself not to buck the rest of the way in. Charles eases out then, pulls Erik's cock out with a pop and then turns his head to lick the side, sucking along the whole length and laving it with his tongue, tracing all along and down to the base. He sucks on Erik's balls and massages them with his wet fingers after. He rubs Erik's cock against his cheek and then pumps it a few times with his fist, leaning over to lick around the top like a lollipop. It's wet and sloppy and so good Erik doesn't know what to do with himself. He can barely keep himself quiet, and that's before Charles looks up at him again, smiles, and then goes down on Erik again.

The slow exploration of earlier is gone. Charles sucks firmly, cheeks hollowed out, and moves his head rapidly up and down, his hand squeezing along beneath. The rhythm is almost punishing and Erik swears he goes deeper and deeper each time. He can hear the wet squelching, alternated with quick wheezes as Charles breathes through his nose, the slurping and slapping of his hand and mouth gliding over wet latex. It's hot and tight and wet and the look Charles is giving him—Charles is in control and he knows it and he's so smug, so pleased, so confident as he does it. This is his Charles, who always thinks he knows best, who's so sure of everything, who's pulling him apart because of course he knows exactly how to do it, of course, of course, no one knows Erik better.

"Fuuuuck," Erik breathes, dragging his upper lip between his teeth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He has to close his eyes, it's almost too much, but it doesn't really help much: the image is burned into his brain, he's never going to forget this, the whole rest of his life, the way Charles looks, so happy and triumphant with his mouth full of Erik's cock.

Charles swallows around him again, even deeper still—he might not have Erik in all the way, but he's really fucking close. Erik can't help but tighten his hold on Charles' hair again. "I'm going to come," he warns Charles, and when Charles hums in acknowledgement, Erik's gone.

Once Erik's able to assemble thoughts together into coherent strings again, he opens his eyes. Charles is using Erik's thigh as a pillow, and he's staring up at Erik with half-lidded eyes, looking satisfied and a little feline, even more so when he catches Erik's gaze and smiles slowly.

Erik pulls Charles up by the shoulders and rolls them over on the bed, until Charles is on his back and Erik above him. Charles wraps his arms around Erik's neck and they kiss for a long hungry minute before Erik pulls away long enough to dispose of the condom in the wastebasket.

He kneels up, straddling Charles' waist and running his hands up and down Charles' chest. 

It's a good view. There are all the marks on his neck and upper chest, of course, which Erik doesn't think he's ever going to stop being smug about. But also just in general, Charles' upper body is fucking incredible, it really is. He should wear muscle tees every day. Erik is probably going to have dreams just about biting into the perfect curve of his biceps.

"What do you want?" Erik says. "What are you thinking about?"

Charles shakes his head. He starts to say something, but he has to clear his throat first. When he does speak, his voice sounds absolutely wrecked. "Fuck. I don't know. I want to fuck you at some point, but that gets...complicated...so we should probably wait."

Erik doesn't know how long it's going to last, but he can feel that Charles is stiff now, at least. He rocks back, rubbing against the hard ridge, as he thinks. "Can I suck you? Is that something—would that work?"

"I—yes," Charles says. "I mean, I probably won't come from it..."

"But you'll enjoy it, right?" Erik says.

"Yeah," Charles says. He's stroking his hands up and down Erik's upper thighs. After another second, he repeats, louder, "Yeah. Do it, Erik, please, I want to see it."

Erik sucks in a shaky breath and scoots down the bed. He undoes Charles' fly with a wiggle of his fingers, looking back up when he hears Charles laugh.

"I'm never going to get tired of that," Charles tells him.

"I'm practical, okay?" Erik says, which just makes Charles laugh again. 

He tugs Charles' pants and baby-blue briefs down to midway down his thighs. He's too impatient to bother taking them all the way off—his mouth is watering now, anticipating how good it's going to be to have Charles' dick in his mouth, and he doesn't want to waste any of the time he has.

Erik fumbles awkwardly towards the nightstand for a condom, accidentally knocking the box to the floor in the process. He rips the packet open, rolls on the condom over Charles' hard-on, and goes down.

What's weird, Erik thinks—not bad, but definitely weird—is that...well, usually when he's sucking a dick, it's a pretty goal-oriented process. He's trying to get the other guy to orgasm. That's the point. But here, like this, since Charles has already warned him that's likely not going to happen, it's different. He just wants to concentrate on making Charles feel good. And on making it look good, too, because apparently that's a big part of it for Charles, the visual.

Charles' hands are clenching and unclenching on Erik's shoulders in rhythmic pulses. "You could do it a little more, um, forceful?" Charles murmurs. "Harder, more pressure than you normally might."

Erik redoubles his efforts. He can tell he's doing it right when Charles' breath gets harsher, almost ragged.

Eventually Charles' erection starts to flag, though, and Erik pulls off with a gasp for breath. He crawls up the bed again, leaving a trail of kisses against Charles' hips and belly and chest, until he stops to flick his tongue against Charles' hard nipples, one and then the other.

Charles makes a low noise, hand coming up to cradle the back of Erik's head, and Erik licks and nips until Charles cries out and begins to shake to pieces beneath him. He keeps going, right until Charles tugs him away, fingers tight in his hair.

"E-enough, god, fuck, Erik," Charles gasps. Erik smiles slowly.

"Good, then?" His voice doesn't sound much better than Charles'. He strokes his hand down Charles' side to his hip, then removes the condom and tosses it out.

"Don't be so smug," Charles says. He shoves at Erik's shoulder, but then curls his fingers around it and pulls Erik up against his chest. He yawns and presses his face into Erik's hair.

"I get to be as smug as I want," Erik says, though he yawns as well. He's remembering now how tired he felt at Denny's. "I made you come like, five times today! And twice last night! And your face—" He yawns again. "It's a good face. The face you make when it happens. And the face you're making now. Just—" Another yawn. "—overall. Good."

Charles is smiling at him. He's so close their noses are almost touching and his eyes are soft and fond.

"Yours too," Charles says softly. They kiss again, sleepy and soft, and Erik pulls a sheet over the both of them absently as he nods off, his head pillowed on Charles' shoulder.


	13. then

A week into sophomore year, Charles got a note in his mailbox that he had a package. He didn't remember ordering anything online, and worried for a moment that he had made some bad decisions while drunk.

"Oh," Erik said, glancing over his shoulder. "You too, huh? Normally she waits at least a couple of weeks."

"Excuse me?" Charles asked.

"Mom," Erik said. "Care packages. Come on, there's probably food inside."

The package was, indeed, from the Lehnsherr family. He and Erik went through the contents in the lobby of the mail room. Mrs. Lehnsherr had sent them both tins of cookies and letters. Erik also had a package of plain white socks, a tote bag with the name of his old battle bot team on it, a book on chess from his father, two boxes of Pop-Tarts, and a tiny crocheted skull from Ruth. Charles' box held two articles clipped out of the _Times_ with notes from Mr. Lehnsherr, a photo of Charles with the Lehnsherrs on his birthday, a book of crossword puzzles, and a tiny crocheted erlenmeyer flask from Ruth. Charles was speechless.

"They didn't need to do this," he said. Erik shrugged.

"I told you, they liked you," he said. "You're like, basically part of the family now."

It was a nice way to start off the year.

Charles and Erik had once again arranged their schedule to have a gen ed class together and once again had to take an 8:30am section to make it work with their schedules. Luckily, their "Fine Arts, Artistry, and You" course was another easy A and their professor, while amusing and enthusiastic, seemed sympathetic about the early hour.

Sympathy could only get a person so far, though, and by week two, Charles was once again wishing he hadn't been so easily swayed by Erik's insistence that it wouldn't be that bad.

"I don't know why I let him talk me into these things," he muttered to Moira one morning after class, not long into the semester. 

"I know why," Moira replied, one eyebrow perfectly arched. 

"Shut up," Charles muttered.

"And you can manage it," Moira continued. "You were up at six am every day at Columbia."

"For a month," Charles said. "And it was worth it. You should have seen the things we were doing, it was amazing."

"I'm completely jealous," Hank chimed in. "Your Facebook posts made it sound, uh, really amazing."

"It was!" Charles said. "And I would happily get up for an 8:30 class to do more work along those lines. But art appreciation? It's difficult not to fall asleep all over again."

Hank scooted over, closer to Charles. 

"What was it like to work with Peter Corbeau?" he asked. "Did you read his paper in _The American Journal of Mutant Genetics_? I can't believe someone that young is doing such ground breaking work."

"It was amazing," Charles admitted. "He's brilliant, and so encouraging and easy to work with. God, I had such a crush on him."

"Tell me more," Hank said. His cheeks went a little pink. "About—I mean, about your work, not about...the other thing."

"Walk with me to the library and I'll tell you anything you want," Charles said.

It became something of a ritual after that; on Tuesdays and Thursdays, after Charles' 8:30 art class, Hank and Charles had breakfast and then walked to the library together, chatting mostly about science, but sometimes about gossip and television and themselves as well. It took Charles three trips to the library to figure out Hank was attempting to flirt with him. It took Hank two more to do anything about it.

"So, uh...you're bi, right?" Hank asked on an overcast Thursday. 

Charles didn't identify as bi, entirely. He generally used the umbrella term "queer." He was definitely attracted to people regardless of gender, but his telepathy made their minds play a much bigger role in the process than he imagined it did for non-telepaths. He'd tried out "pansexual" a few times, and while it wasn't quite the fit he was looking for, it was closer.

However, he could tell why Hank was asking, so rather than subject him to a lecture on Charles' personal identity politics, he merely said, "Yes, I am."

"Okay," Hank said, nodding. "Okay, uh, cool."

Charles waited a minute, and then said, "Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

Hank looked down at the ground, and then back up to Charles' face. "Actually, I kind of wanted to ask if maybe...you wanted to go out sometime."

Charles and Lilandra had broken up officially a week before the semester started. The long distance thing had just been too exhausting, after all. Charles felt a little guilty about it, though Lili had seemed just as sanguine as him about the whole thing. They were still emailing back and forth every weekend; Charles was beginning to gain a pretty solid foundation in British birds.

Charles hadn't been explicitly looking for a new relationship so quickly, but it wasn't like he was opposed to the possibility, either. And he liked Hank a lot. They'd been friends since fall of freshman year, but in the last few weeks of hanging out, Charles felt like he'd already gotten to know him a lot better. Hank was definitely kind of shy and awkward, but he was also thoughtful and kind and had the driest, most low-key hilarious sense of humor of anyone Charles knew. He was a scientific genius, too, passionate not just about biology but a half-dozen different areas.

And, too, Charles had to admit it: physically, he was _absolutely_ Charles' type. He was a sucker for tall, skinny, dark-haired mutant boys. 

"I'd like that very much, Hank," Charles said. 

Hank looked surprised, relieved and happy, all at once. "Great! I was thinking maybe we could go to the mutant historiography lecture tomorrow evening? I mean, I'm sure you're already going, but...we could go together."

It was a good first date, all things considered. The lecture was interesting, though somewhat flawed in its methodology, something they discussed enthusiastically afterwards all the way from the auditorium to Charles' dorm room.

Charles was still talking as he opened his door and went inside. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and tossed onto his desk, along with his bag.

When he turned around, Hank was still standing in the doorway.

"You can come in, if you want," Charles said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't just have to stand there like an uninvited vampire."

Hank slipped him a soft smile and came inside, sitting on the edge of Charles' mattress, close enough to Charles that his knee bumped against the wheel on his chair.

"I had a really good time," Hank said.

"Me, too," Charles said.

"I was thinking—do you want to, you know, make out?"

Charles laughed delightedly. "Very much so, yes."

Whatever smoothness Hank might have lacked, he made up for it in other ways. For all the times Charles had fallen in love with boys, his hands-on experience with the same sex was limited to the boyfriend he'd had at camp the summer between middle school and high school. They'd been young enough then that their relationship had been really innocent—holding hands and sitting next to each other whenever they had the opportunity, a few fumbling awkward kisses at night when no one was around.

Charles was the first guy Hank had ever been with, too, though. They were both coming into it with the same lack of experience, which made it easier, somehow. There wasn't any reason to be embarrassed. Instead, they both started to approach it the same way they might approach any identified gap in their knowledge set—with focus, concentration, and a concrete plan.

They both made lists of things they wanted to try, and set about checking things off, one by one, experimenting with all the things they _could_ do and identifying the things they liked and wanted to do again. It was exciting. It was _fun_.

"Who are you talking to?" Erik said one night, when he and Charles were doing homework. They were in Erik's room, taking advantage of Tom being gone for the weekend, visiting Sharon at her school two hours away. Erik was sprawled out on his belly on his bed while Charles sat at the desk. "Your phone keeps buzzing, it's really annoying."

"I'm talking with Hank," Charles said.

"With Hank?"

"Yes, Erik, with Hank. My boyfriend."

"Oh. Right." 

For reasons Charles completely failed to comprehend, it seemed impossible for Erik to keep it in his head for any length of time that Hank and Charles were dating. He didn't seem upset by it, but he just honestly seemed to forget unless Charles was holding Hank's hand or kissing him where Erik could see. Even then sometimes—at a party not long after Charles and Hank started going out, they were making out on the porch swing out back of the share house when Erik came over, sat next to Charles, and started impatiently tapping his foot to get Charles' attention.

Charles had to explain to Hank pretty early on that Erik wasn't always clear on personal boundaries. 

Charles unlocked his phone and read Hank's message, smiling a little.

_When is good? I'm running into town and can pick up more condoms and lube if we need it._

_I'm with Erik now—he's going to the Student Center around nine for a show, so how about quarter after?_ Charles texted back. Then, after quickly opening his email to double check, he sent another message. _UPS says the new vibrator should be here on Wednesday._

A moment later, two messages came in from Hank in rapid succession,

_Great, I'll see you then!_   
_Oh, the Lelo, right?? I'll clear my schedule for Wednesday night! Can't wait!!_

Charles couldn't wait either. He and Hank were amassing quite the collection of sex toys in pursuit of sexual knowledge. Charles foot the bill for most of them, especially the high end stuff. It was the right thing to do, given the size of his trust fund, but he couldn't say a part of him didn't love the idea of the look on Kurt's face were he ever to find out Charles was wasting the precious Xavier fortune on gay sex.

"You should come to the show with me tonight," Erik said, rolling over onto his back and sending a quarter across the room to ping off Charles' arm and get his attention. "These guys are gonna be big soon, I can tell. The right people are talking about them. You can say you saw them before they blew up."

"You know I don't care about that like you do," Charles said, turning around to give Erik the attention he was whining for. "But you go and have fun and tell me all about it, okay?"

"Ugh, fine," Erik said. "I guess what's his name will be there."

"Your boyfriend?" Charles suggested.

"Yeah, Lance," Erik said.

"Good," Charles said. That would keep Erik occupied, hopefully. After the show he'd probably want to have sex, and by the time all that was said and done, Charles and Hank should be finished.

"Well, in that case, we should watch something," Erik said. "We can study tomorrow." He gestured for Charles to join him up on the bed, waving his other hand to turn on the television. 

Charles had, briefly, when he first started dating Hank, considered dialing back the intensity of his friendship with Erik. Moira hadn't minded, but he was afraid Hank might be put off by it. At the end of the day, though, he figured that Hank had known him for a year. He had to know what Charles and Erik were like with each other by now.

Charles lounged on Erik's bed while he flipped through Netflix. It was Charles' queue—Charles' account, the password to which he gave out to all his friends, another little slight towards his mother and Kurt, who paid for it—and he quickly settled on a movie they had started watching at 2am last Saturday, only to fall asleep in the middle. While it picked up where they left off, Erik made himself comfortable, using Charles as a human pillow. They stayed that way until Erik got up around 8:30 to start preparing for his show, stripping his shirt off and tossing it in his hamper as if Charles wasn't there. Knowing half an hour of staring at Erik's bare chest and nipple rings would only resort in madness, Charles made a tactical retreat to his own room to wait for Hank.

Wednesday afternoon, as promised by UPS, Charles had a package slip in his mailbox. He smiled when he saw it, nestled among flyers from the school advertising bookstore sales and upcoming events. He coasted over to the package window while Erik was still going through his mail, and by the time Erik joined him, the woman working the window was already handing over his new package.

"What's that?" Erik asked, reaching for the box.

"Private," Charles said cheerfully.

"You've been getting a lot of private mail lately," Erik said.

"I have," Charles agreed, but chose not to elaborate further.

It wasn't that he was embarrassed about his purchases. He didn't exactly care if Erik knew he was buying sex toys, and while it wouldn't be fair to Hank to go into detail about their sexual plans, Charles knew that wasn't what was holding him back.

Erik dated a lot of guys. A _lot_ of guys. And while Charles knew that Erik wouldn't judge him, per se, he couldn't help but feel...inexperienced in comparison. He knew that in the fantasy world where Erik noticed Charles was in love with him and admitted his own feelings, Erik certainly wouldn't throw him over for not knowing the ins and outs of sex with another guy, but he was also very aware that it was yet another strike against him; not only did Charles not look or move or act like the endless parade of willowy hipsters, but he wouldn't know what to do with Erik the way they did, either. Sure, he had seen porn and eavesdropped on fantasies, but it wasn't the same as doing. It wasn't the same as experiencing it himself. 

Charles didn't like to admit it to himself, but there was a part of him that couldn't help feeling sort of relieved now. Because if something ever _did_ happen between him and Erik now, he would be prepared.

It sounded so bad when he thought about it like that; Charles couldn't help being a little ashamed. It made it sound like—well, like he was just using Hank, which wasn't the case at all. He liked Hank so much, and the laughter and the sense of exploration that the two of them had together was its own special experience, not about Erik at all. 

Knowing that didn't lessen that sense of relief any, though. Not even the embarrassment of acknowledging he was still stuck on Erik could do that—though it _was_ embarrassing. It had been a year since his epiphany at the Halloween party, and he wasn't any less in love with Erik than he had been from the beginning. 

And yet, honestly, Charles couldn't find he minded it that much, either. It wasn't as if he was just sitting around mooning after Erik, or waiting for Erik to come to his senses. His and Erik's friendship was this special, precious thing that Charles valued more than anything; being in love with Erik was sort of just a constant in the background, really. 

"So do you want to get drunk and play Scrabble tonight?" Erik asked as they left the building.

"Mm, I have plans tonight," Charles said, smiling to himself as he thought about it. "But I'll take a raincheck."


	14. now

In the end, their sex honeymoon, as Moira dubs it over lunch once they finally return to the land of the living, lasts five days. They leave Charles' room to eat, to shower, for Erik to grab shit from his own room, and once to do laundry, though that ends fairly quickly when they start making out in the laundry room. Erik isn't willing to get caught groping each other semi-publically _again_ —the incident with Moira is bad enough. Plus, Erik's pretty sure he's already pressing his luck mortification-wise by not running into anybody when the last condom tears and he has to sneak out to the hall bathroom, wearing nothing but Charles' robe, to grab some from the bowl the RA left out like Halloween candy.

(Technically, he supposes, he could have gone up to his own room, but in the heat of the moment that seemed much too far away. They restocked from his supply later.)

In an unprecedented move, Charles even skips his Monday classes. 

"Oh my god," he groans that afternoon, when he finally gets around to checking his email. "Dr. Black and Dr. Ortiz both emailed me to make sure I'm okay and they hope I feel better soon. I'm a terrible person. This is all your fault, Erik."

"How is it my fault?" Erik says reasonably. "You're the one who decided to stay." Charles had gotten out of bed, even gone to all the trouble of picking out the clothes he was going to wear, and Erik was _good_. Obviously he totally thought Charles should stay in bed with him all day, but he hadn't said that, or even pouted all that much.

"It's your fault because you were naked in my bed," Charles says. "And when I looked over at you, you _stretched_." He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

"Is that all it takes, then?" Erik grins. "What happens if I stretch now?"

"Don't write checks your body can't cash," Charles says. He's trying to keep a straight face, but he can't quite manage it.

"Who even says that?" Erik says, but it's a rhetorical question, and he takes Charles' tablet away from him and sets it aside so he can climb into Charles' lap again instead.

Eventually, though, they manage to venture back to the outside world. Charles insists that he has to go to his Tuesday classes, even if Erik's already skipped his first. After one last shared shower (and wow, the handicapped shower stalls are roomy), they part ways to get dressed and then walk over to the dining hall together to get breakfast before Charles' 10:30 class.

Erik had hoped that they could avoid seeing anyone they knew immediately, but as soon as they step off the elevator, he spots Moira and Emma, and, more importantly, they spot him. Erik didn't know it was possible to wave sarcastically, but he should have known better than to underestimate Moira or Emma.

"They're going to make fun of us," Erik absolutely does not whine.

"Darling, we spend five days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and having sex," Charles says. "My dorm room smells like a brothel. We literally ran out of condoms twice and lube once. They're allowed to make fun of us a little."

Erik frowns, but allows Charles to nudge him towards the food service area to get breakfast. Erik's so hungry he skips over his usual Froot Loops for an omelette, and not just in the hopes that Moira and Emma will leave if he takes long enough.

"Are you eating an actual vegetable?" Charles asks as they add silverware and drinks to their trays. "Have I changed you that much in less than a week?"

"Do cheese and turkey sausage count as vegetables?" Erik asks. Charles sighs. "I almost had them add bacon too, but I thought that would be overboard," Erik adds, just to see him make the same face again.

"Welcome back," Moira says once they reach the table.

"I'm surprised you can walk, Erik," Emma adds. Erik flips them both off.

"Yes, and it's lovely to see you ladies as well," Charles says. "Did we miss anything of substance?"

"Well, word's spread through the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants that you two have taken up together, so you might want to watch your back," Moira says. Erik pauses mid-chew.

"Brotherhood of Evil Mutants?" he asks. Moira makes a face.

"Ugh, gross, swallow your food, Lehnsherr," she says. "The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants is what we call your vast army of dumb whiny ex-boyfriends. It appears at least one of them saw you holding hands on Friday and their whisper-network took care of the rest. There's probably a price on Charles' head."

"Very funny," Charles says, but Erik looks slowly around the dining hall. He catches sight of a guy he used to go out with—Jason, he thinks his name was. Jason catches his eye, glares at him, and then abruptly turns away.

Oh fuck. This is going to end like one of those romantic tragedies. One of Erik's exes, scorned and bent on revenge, is going to murder suicide the both of them.

"Don't be dramatic," Charles says, spearing a bit of pancake. "They would have found out eventually, anyway, when I updated Facebook." Charles is futzing with his phone as they speak. "I should probably text Raven first—she'll be bloody pissed she had to learn it from Facebook and not from me directly."

"What does your sister care?" Erik asks, at least temporarily distracted from the imminent threat of his death-by-whiny-ex-boyfriend.

"You should tell yours too," Charles says. "She'll want to know."

Erik scoffs. "Yeah, right," he says. "Ruth has better things to worry about."

As it turns out, Ruth doesn't have better things to worry about.

He's on his way out of class a few hours later, headed back to his room. Tuesdays and Thursdays, he and Charles have class every other block, which was mildly annoying before his main hobby was making out with Charles and has become extra annoying today. He's just about reached the dorm building when his phone blows up with texts. He assumes at first that maybe one of Charles' professors did something unbearably stupid or maybe—fingers crossed—his 4:00 class was cancelled and he's headed back to the dorms.

As it turns out, the texts aren't from Charles at all. They're all from his sister.

_OMG!!! YOU AND CHARLES ARE DATING???_

_OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG_

_Did you tell Mom and Dad??? You have to tell Mom and dad omggggggggggg_

_I'm so happy for you guys!!!_

_ALTHOUGH why didn't you tell me yourself you dummy?? Why did i have to find out on charles' facebook, hmmmmm????_

_oh my gooooooddddddddddd ERIK THIS IS SO GREAT!!!!_

Erik checks the time and confirms that Ruth is out of school for the day, then sighs and taps the screen to call her directly.

Ruth doesn't bother with pleasantries. 

"Oh my GOD, Erik, FINALLY!" she says as soon as the call connects. "Like, FINALLY."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?!" Erik asks. Charles seems to think it's funny, but Erik is getting more and more frustrated. Did everyone figure it out before he did?

"Because me and Mom and Dad figured around the time you called home and told Dad about all the _actual physical changes you wanted to make to our house_ , that Charles was pretty important to you."

Erik sighs and rubs his forehead. He's at the dorms now, and at least being on the phone will give him an excuse not to talk to Tom if he's still there.

"But, seriously, oh my god, you know how much I love Charles," Ruth says. "And you're so happy when you're with him Erik, for real. Like, all shitting and doing my sisterly duty to mock you aside, when he was here, the two of you were just so...happy around each other."

A retort is on the tip of his tongue, but Erik stops himself short.

"Yeah?" he asks quietly.

"Totally," Ruth says.

"That's...good to know," he says. He enters the dorms and jogs up the stairs, still turning that over in his head.

"And you should know up front that if you guys break up, Mom and Dad and I are probably going to keep Charles in the divorce," she adds.

"Very funny," Erik says. "We're not breaking up."

"Good," Ruth says. "Anyway, I have Debate in a few minutes, but you need to call Mom and Dad tonight and tell them before they see it on Charles' Facebook. They'll kill you if they find out you didn't tell them."

"It _just happened_ ," Erik insists. She really doesn't need to know about the sex honeymoon. "Some of our friends don't even know yet!"

"Tell them," Ruth repeats. "And tell Charles I said hi and that I love him and that I'm really happy for you guys. I'll talk to you soon!"

"Yeah, whatever," Erik says, and ends the call.

Tom isn't in the room, which is just as well. Blowing off school work the last few days means that Erik, if not actually behind, isn't far ahead enough to feel comfortable. If he's not studying with Charles, he finds it easiest to concentrate with music playing, and if Tom's in the room he has to use his headphones, which just isn't the same.

At least this way he has a chance to make some progress on his paper for his Mutation as Metaphor class, which is due on Friday. Charles snickers every time Erik mentions it, because he's an asshole and thinks the humanities are "hippy-dippy and vague," but it's actually one of Erik's favorite classes this semester—it's mostly upperclassmen, but Erik got special permission from the prof, and they've been getting their teeth into some really cool and chewy stuff.

Erik gives that his total concentration for the next hour or two. He's making some good headway and he thinks he's come up with some really interesting points that Professor Hendrickson is going to like. He kind of loses track of time, actually, and it's only the buzz of his phone that pulls him out of it, when Charles texts him that his class is over and Erik should come meet him in the student center.

Erik saves his paper and shuts his laptop, grabs his hoodie from the bed, and heads out.

He checks his phone as he walks across campus. Ruth's got him a little—not nervous, exactly, but something. She's right that he needs to call his parents. Now that she pointed it out, Erik can only imagine the chewing out his mom would give him otherwise. It's still too early to call, though, since they're both still at work. He's going to have to wait until after dinner, which sucks, because he mostly kind of wants to get it over with.

Well. At least this way he can do it with Charles there, too. He's sure they'll both want to talk to him.

Erik's almost at the student center when he gets the whim to actually check Charles' Facebook. Charles' profile pic is the two of them curled up together, but Erik's pretty sure that's been there since the summer. His "now in a relationship" update is just as plain and generic as they always are, but...huh. There are a lot of likes. Charles has a lot of Facebook friends. There are comments, too. One girl Erik doesn't even know but apparently goes to their school congratulates Charles and says she always thought they would make an adorable couple. Some guy who doesn't go to their school, a friend of Charles' from high school or camp or something, commented that he assumed from pictures they were already together. Ruth left a string of heart and kissy face emojis. Raven's comment says, "Still simultaneously shocked and not at all shocked."

It doesn't make Erik feel any better about how long it took him to figure things out.

He's still looking at Charles' Facebook when he gets to the student center. He knew, obliquely, that Charles has always posted a lot of pictures of the two of them because he gets notified whenever Charles tags him. Still, he doesn't know that he's ever looked at them all together like this. It's a lot. They're good pictures. Erik looks good, generally, and Charles looks amazing. 

Ruth's right—they both look happy.

He looks up from his phone to find Charles and gets a mental tug in the right direction, even before he can reach out and orient himself with Charles' wheelchair. Charles is on one of the battered student center sofas, drinking a coffee and watching Armando and his boyfriend play air hockey. Erik drops his bag on the floor and sits down next to Charles, half draped over him, arms automatically curling around his waist. Three weeks ago, Erik would have sat down exactly the same way. It's weird how little has changed. And maybe that goes back to the other thing, to everyone knowing before he did.

He rests his head on Charles' shoulder. Charles smells good, good enough to spark an absent wave of arousal in Erik's gut, a distant wanting to simmer on the back burner for the time being. He wonders if this is just going to be his life now, always absently turned on whenever he and Charles are together.

He's not, like, against this development.

"Is everything okay?" Charles asks, running his fingers lightly down Erik's back.

"Thinking," Erik tells him.

"Serious business," Charles agrees with gently mocking gravity. Erik bites his shoulder, but it just makes him laugh. "Anything you want to share?"

"Not yet," Erik says. Then, "Ruth texted. Then called. Or I called her. She saw your Facebook."

"I told you that you should have told her this morning," Charles says.

"Yeah, yeah," Erik mutters. "She said to tell you...I don't remember, blah blah blah, she's an annoying brat—"

" _Erik_ ," Charles laughs.

"—she loves you, she's happy for us, whatever," Erik says. 

"Aw."

"She thinks I should tell my parents," Erik adds.

"You should," Charles says. Erik looks up, attempting to glare at Charles. He has a feeling he looks more mulishly put out than anything else. "They'll want to know! They'll be disappointed if you don't and disappointed in me if I don't, but it's really not my place."

"You're in this too!" Erik insists.

"But they're your parents," Charles says. "You know they already thought we were dating, right? And you're the one who keeps insisting that they love me. It's not as if they'll disapprove. What's the worst that can happen?"

"That," Erik says. He squeezes Charles for emphasis and then rolls over onto his back, swinging his legs up and over the arm of the couch, his head pillowed in Charles' lap. "Exactly that! They thought we were dating! Everyone thought we were dating! Everyone...knew! Even strangers on your Facebook were all saying like, 'Oh, I just figured you guys were already a couple!' or whatever. How did everyone know? How come, if everyone in the entire fucking world knew, no one could tell me?"

Charles brushes away the hair that's lying across Erik's forehead, which is probably actually messing up the styling, but Erik doesn't really mind. "Since when can anyone tell you anything?"

Erik scowls up at him.

"I'm serious," Charles says. "Do you really think that would have worked? Or would you just have ranted to me about how people don't understand friendship and make assumptions about how all love has to be sexual and the value of different kinds of relationships?"

Instantly Erik thinks back to his reaction when he told Tom. Charles is in his mind close enough to see the memory, too, and he smiles crookedly down at Erik as if to say _See?_

"I just feel dumb," Erik mutters. "I feel like the biggest idiot in the world, and like everybody else _knows_ how big an idiot I am."

"Oh, well," Charles says. "I have absolutely no experience with _that._."

"What are you talking about?" Erik says. He still sounds pouty and grumbly, but whatever. "You're the smartest person I know."

"Remember how I told you I figured out how I felt about you a little bit sooner than you figured it out about me?" Erik nods, and Charles shrugs. "Well, what's dumber than being in unrequited love with your best friend? Sometimes I was convinced everybody must be feeling sorry for me for being so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," Erik says emphatically.

"I appreciate that," Charles says. He's tracing Erik's eyebrows with his fingertips now, which is not something Erik would have expected to feel as good as it does."But I also think...other people might think a lot of things, but they don't know, really. Our friendship hasn't just been a waiting period, you know? And what matters is that, well, we're both on the same page now."

"I guess you're right," Erik says slowly. He captures Charles' hand where it's tracing his brow and weaves their fingers together.

"I know I'm right," Charles says. "I haven't spent all this time moping and pining. I was with you, doing ridiculous things, having fun. I didn't spend all that time with you because I was waiting for you to want me—I did it because I liked you and we clicked and we had fun together. If you never returned my feelings, I'd still have good memories of the things we did together. I'd still want to be around you and hang out with you. That's part of why I fell in love with you in the first place."

"One day I'm going to get you to tell me how long you knew," Erik says, which is as close as he'll come to a concession. He still feels stupid, but it also seems silly to waste time feeling stupid when he has so much time to make up for now.

"I don't doubt that you will," Charles says serenely, and leans over to press a kiss to the tip of Erik's nose. "You should tell Armando and Alex that you want to play the winner and you should play on this side of the table."

"Why's that?" Erik asks.

"So I can ogle your ass while you play," Charles tells him. Erik rolls his eyes.

"You're totally shameless," he says, but he's already calculating ways to lean over the table as he says it.

"Just making up for lost time," Charles says cheerfully.

They play two rounds of air hockey and watch the beginning of a film being projected on a sheet hung across the stage in the back where concerts are held before Armando's boyfriend complains about being hungry and they all head over to the dining hall together. Emma, Moira, Hank, and Ororo are all there already, and dinner turns into one part ribbing about Charles and Erik's weekend of sexcapades and one part loud argument about the topic of a mutant lecture series proposed for the fall. Ororo breaks it up before Erik and Moira can draw blood, and though they all walk back to the dorms in a clump, Erik hangs back when the rest of the group heads towards the longue. 

He pulls his phone out and rubs his thumb over the screen. There's a crack in the corner, just a small one, not enough to spider the screen, but Erik picks at it with his nail sometimes when he's thinking. Charles sees him lingering in the hall and stops for a moment, sending a wordless psychic question. Erik bites his lip and shrugs, and Charles murmurs something to Armando, then turns and joins Erik in the hall.

"I...think I'm going to call my Mom and Dad," Erik says.

Charles nods.

"Do you want to use my room?" he asks.

"Sure," Erik says.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Sure," Erik says again.

"Okay," Charles says. He twists to wave goodbye to the others, and then he leads the way back to his room, Erik hanging a thoughtful step behind.

Erik strips off his hoodie and kicks his sneakers under Charles' bed. He feels a little jumpy, unsettled still. He opens up the mini-fridge under Charles' desk—the leftovers from Denny's are long gone, of course, but there's still more grapefruit juice from last week.

"I don't know why you get this kind," Erik says absently. "You know I don't like it." He takes a swig from the bottle anyway, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing, and then puts it back and closes the door.

"I don't just buy things based on what _you_ like," Charles points out.

Erik shrugs it off. "Whatever. We should go grocery shopping soon anyway, though. Maybe before lunch tomorrow, what do you think?"

"That sounds fine," Charles says. "Erik. Hey."

Erik's over by Charles' window now, fiddling a little with the blinds, but he turns around to look at Charles then. Charles is sitting on his bed, giving Erik a kind, puzzled look.

"Why are you nervous about this?" Charles says.

"I don't know!" Erik says. "It doesn't make any sense! I just...I don't talk about stuff with them. Not stuff like this. You know?" 

Of course Charles doesn't know. Erik doesn't even know what he means. 

On the one hand, he's definitely never talked about his love life or his boyfriends with his parents—unless you counted clearing his throat at dinner once a few weeks into middle school, then tapping a spoon meaningfully against Ruth's glass when she wouldn't take the hint to shut up, and finally announcing to them that he was gay. But that was kind of a formality, really. He had certainly always known it, and his family had too, which sort of ruined the sense of drama he had been going for.

But other than his anti-climactic coming out, and telling them when he was going with a boy to prom, he's never talked to them about guys because...why would he? It's not like any of them have mattered that much.

But being with Charles is the opposite: Charles not only matters, Charles is so fucking important that he goes way off the other end of the spectrum. And Erik doesn't really talk about that stuff with them, either, the stuff that's tangled up way in the heart of him. The only people he's ever talked about any of that with have been the therapist after Shaw, some, and Charles himself.

"I promise you it will be fine," Charles says, which is something people say, but when Charles says it, it does sound like an actual promise. "Here, come sit with me."

Charles pats the mattress in front of him, and Erik climbs onto the bed. They arrange themselves so that Erik's sitting between Charles' legs, his back to Charles' chest, his head resting back on Charles' shoulder and Charles' arms around his middle. It's comforting. Charles is really smart sometimes, and not even just about school stuff.

Erik goes to his contacts and selects his parents' home number. His mom answers after three rings.

"Hello, sweetie!" Mom says. "We weren't expecting to hear from you until your dad's birthday next week. How are you doing? Is everything going alright?"

"Everything's fine," Erik says, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He rests his free hand on Charles' thigh. "No, actually...everything's great. That's kind of why I called."

"What do you mean?" Mom says. He can hear, in the background, vague noises as she walks around. There's a splashing sound suddenly that he thinks must be his dad washing dishes, and his mom's voice is muffled for a moment, presumably by her hand, as she says, "Jake, your son is on the phone."

"What's he want?" Dad says loudly, sounding confused, and Charles shakes just a little with suppressed laughter against Erik's back.

"I just wanted to tell you guys that, um. Charles and I started dating."

For a second, there's silence on the other side of the line. Charles slips a hand under the hem of Erik's shirt and rubs his thumb in a circle against his skin.

"Oh, _Erik_ ," Mom says, and holy shit, she sounds choked up. She sounds the way she sounds when she's trying not to cry. The last time Erik heard her sound like that was when he and Ruth made her a photo collage for Mother's Day last year, with a bunch of their baby photos. "Erik, that's such wonderful news!"

"Yeah," Erik says. "Uh, I just—um. I thought you might...want to know. Ruth said—um."

His mom sniffles and she's totally crying. Oh god. It's freaking him out.

"Of course we want to know!" she says. She sniffles again. "Oh, Erik, of course we want to know!"

In the background, he hears his father say, "Hell, Edie, is he alright, then? What's wrong?"

"He's fine, he's fine," Mom says, the phone muffled by her hand again. "He just wanted us to know that he and Charles are dating."

Another moment of silence. Charles presses a kiss to the side of his head.

"Well, it's about damn time," his dad says. "Tell him I said that. Tell him—tell him he's a good boy, and Charles is a good boy."

"Oh, we're so happy for you, Erik," his mom says into the phone again. "For both of you! Charles is such a good boy, Erik, and we could tell—both of us, when he was here we could tell...well, how much he means to you." 

"Mom," Erik finally manages to say, horrified to feel her tears echoing in a lump in his own throat. "It's not like we're getting married."

"Well, of course not," Mom says. "I simply won't allow it until you're both done with school at the very least!"

Erik chokes. Charles laughs out loud, delighted.

"Is that Charles?" his mom asks. "Can we talk to him?"

"Sure," Erik says. Anything to give him a minute or two to collect himself. He hands the phone to Charles, who takes it eagerly, slipping it between his shoulder and his ear.

"Hello, Mrs. Lehnsherr," he says. Then, "I know, I know, but my manners were trained into me very early on, you know....mmhm....I'll do my best." 

Erik could easily tag onto Charles' side of the conversation in his head—all he'd have to do is ask. He appreciates the chance to be alone in his head for a moment, though. He can hear the distant tinny sound of his mother's voice and Charles' out of context responses, but none of the substance.

Ruth was right, his parents knew too. He shouldn't be surprised. He isn't, really, but his mother's reaction—he wasn't expecting her to be so overwhelmed. She sounded so happy, so...relieved, almost. Like it was all she had ever wanted to hear from him.

He seemed happy with Charles, she said. Ruth said the same thing.

Maybe this _was_ all his mother had ever wanted to hear from him.

"Oh, of course I will," Charles is saying. He is suddenly looking teary eyed himself. "Of course I will. I do know what he's like, and after all this time, I'm immune to the worst of his flaws, I think."

"Are you talking about me?" Erik asks.

Charles sticks his tongue out, but he still looks like he's about to cry.

"I do," he says into the phone, quietly. "I do, I have, I—yes, yes, and I—I promise. Of course I promise, I would—me too."

He wipes at his eyes and pulls Erik closer.

"Soon, I promise. I'll give you back to him now." He hands the phone back to Erik and snuggles into Erik's shoulder, wiping his eyes again.

"Hi," Erik says.

"Sweetheart, thank you so much for telling us," Mom says. She's definitely been crying. "You know—of course you know your father and I, we've always just wanted you to be happy. We've wanted you to be your best self. And we've wanted you to want to share that with us. And it means so much to know you've found someone so important to you and that it's a boy as good as Charles is. You know we think of him as family already and we know how much he means to you. And I can tell—" She sniffles again. "I know how hard it is for you to share these parts of you. Thank you for sharing it. I promise we'll take good care of Charles for you. We love him, too."

Fuck fuck fuck. He scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. 

"I know," Erik says. He has to clear his throat. "I know," he repeats a little more solidly. "I...um...I love you guys too, you know?"

"We do," Mom says. Charles kisses his temple again. "I'll leave you boys be, now. We'll talk more on your father's birthday, okay?"

"Sure," Erik says quietly. "Yeah. Good."

"We love you, Erik. Hug Charles for us."

"I will," Erik says. "Talk to you soon."

"Goodbye, sweetie."

"Bye."

Erik lowers the phone from his ear and then stares at it as the call ends and the screen reverts back to his contact list. Charles' head is still resting against his shoulder, his arms tight around Erik's waist.

"I told you it would be fine," Charles says softly.

"Yeah," Erik says. "Yeah, you were right."

He sets the phone down on the mattress beside them, and then brings his hands up to rest on top of Charles', where they're clasped at his waist. He looks down at them while he talks, his longer, slimmer fingers against Charles' strong, square, neat hands. 

"What do you want to do now?" Erik says. "I mean. We could go join the others again, I guess."

Charles makes a dismissive noise.

Erik smiles faintly, turning his head to see Charles' face. "What, you don't think so? We just avoided everybody for five days. They're already making fun of us. They probably think we snuck off to have sex again."

"We can hang out with everyone the rest of the week," Charles says. "I'm sure they won't die without us for a few minutes longer. Let's just stay like this and watch cartoons or something."

Erik isn't going to argue with that, not when he mostly feels the same way. He likes their friends, of course, but something about that phone call makes him feel—soft, somehow, almost naked, like he's lost a layer of skin and everything's a little too strong and off-center. He feels _emotional_ , and it's uncomfortable. He needs a little time to process it.

He doesn't say any of that aloud, but he's sure Charles knows it already. Instead all Erik says is, "Okay," before he floats over the remote controls so that Charles can set up one of the dumb Disney movies he likes.

By the time Simba's defeated his evil uncle and brought prosperity back to his kingdom, Erik's feeling a little more like himself. 

"I should probably sleep in my own bed tonight," Erik says thoughtfully as the movie winds down. "Or on the floor, even. Just you can sleep normally again for a bit, without me all in your way like I have been this week."

"It's not so bad with you here," Charles says. "You can stay if you want."

So Erik does.


	15. then

For all that Charles got frustrated or fed up with Erik on a fairly regular basis, and for all that they argued and bickered playfully as a matter of course, it wasn't often that Charles actually got truly _angry_ with him. 

‘Not often' wasn't the same as never, however. 

They were at a party together the Saturday before Thanksgiving, off-campus at a house shared by a half-dozen upperclassmen, including Erik's current flame. Hank wasn't there; he'd skipped out of it to get some reading done and work on one of his projects. Charles had been a little disappointed, but not that much.

Once he got to the party, Charles envied Hank for staying home. He wished he'd done the same—it was far and away the most boring party he'd been to since he started college. Erik was the only person here that he really knew, and everybody else was...well. The sort of people Erik's boyfriend would be friends with. They were all very superior and pretentious and cool. The booze was excellent, but that was pretty much the only thing the party had going for it.

Charles was already maybe a little primed to be annoyed at Erik, even before the rest of it happened, simply because Erik was the one who'd coaxed him to come. He had a feeling Erik, who was normally the picture of emotionally oblivious, was starting to catch on.

"This is fun, isn't it?" Erik asked, flopping himself down on the couch next to Charles. He started to wind his arms around Charles' waist, but Charles shook him off. "Hey, come on."

"Listening to a bunch of disaffected hipsters passive-aggressively argue about music and one-up each other on cred isn't my idea of fun, no," Charles said. "I don't know these people and I don't care to."

"But the booze is good," Erik insisted. "And you know me."

"I could drink good booze with you back in my dorm room," Charles said. Not to mention that Erik had generally been too busy being flirted at by other guys or dancing with his boyfriend to pay Charles much attention.

"We'll go soon," Erik promised, but "soon" seemed nebulous. Erik needed to sober up, for one. They had driven over, since it had been raining that evening when they left, and though they could walk back to campus and pick up the car later, Charles wasn't too keen on making that walk by himself if Erik wanted to hang out and fuck his boyfriend before they left. Erik's power did, actually, technically make him a pretty safe driver while inebriated, and campus was only a mile away, but Charles wasn't in the mood to offer Erik any concessions.

"Whatever," Charles said. He had gloves in the bag on the back of his chair. As long as the sidewalks weren't too icy, he could be back at campus in twenty or so minutes and be in bed before midnight for once.

For a split second, Erik looked almost empathetic. Concerned. He thought, maybe, Erik was going to give in, to pack up and leave.

And then the song changed.

"Oh, I _love_ this song!" he said, and jumped up from the couch. Any last fondness for Erik fizzled out. Charles was ready to leave, with or without him.

He tore his eyes from Erik's retreating back and reached for his chair.

Which was...not where he left it.

He looked up—someone had moved his wheelchair a good ten feet away, obviously in an effort to reach the record shelf he had left it in front of. They had not put it back. Charles could feel the creeping humiliation of asking for help start to fill his stomach.

He could reach out to Erik, poke him and ask him to move the chair. He was going to have to poke Erik and ask him to help Charles down the steps anyway—and Charles should have known this party was a bad idea the moment he realized there was no way for him to get safely in and out of the house without Erik's assistance. 

"Excuse me," he said to a boy who was passing the couch. He ignored Charles and kept walking. "Excuse me," he repeated to two girls sitting on the far end of the couch, chatting. They also ignored him.

He tried one more time before pulling Erik away from his sexual simulacrum on the dance floor.

"Excuse me!"

The boy passing by—definitely an upperclassman—paused and glanced at him. _Finally_.

"Can you please bring my wheelchair back over here?" he asked. The boy raised his eyebrows. He had a handlebar mustache, because of course he did, and was wearing an ugly sweater, because of course he was.

"Can I take a spin in it first?" Ugly Sweater asked, his lips curling up into a smirk.

"No, I would prefer that you didn't," Charles said. He could feel his face heating up. He hated this. He hated it. Of all the stupid things about his disability, this helplessness was what haunted him. It wasn't easy to live with such black and white knowledge of his limitations, or running into ADA-non-compliant stores and restaurants, or having to explain the lurid details of his life to nosy strangers, or knowing people looked right past him, or being treated like he was stupid just because his legs didn't work, or not knowing whether his dick was going to work when he got into bed with his boyfriend. But he learned to live with those things.

This, though—knowing that he would be stranded, that he couldn't do anything if this boy decided that the joke of riding around the party in Charles' wheelchair was worth more than being a good person—the helplessness was what kept him up at night and made him feel sick.

"Just one spin, Wheels," Ugly Sweater said, rolling the chair back and forth by the back of the seat. Charles clenched his teeth.

"Please return my wheelchair promptly," he said, and Ugly Sweater laughed and shoved it towards Charles. It collided with his legs. He prayed he didn't look as humiliated as he felt while he quickly pulled on his jacket. He'd worry about his hat and his gloves when he got down to the street, his new goal was to get out of this room and away from Ugly Sweater as soon as possible. 

_Erik!_ he called out, perhaps more sharply than he meant to. He pulled himself into his chair, aware of Ugly Sweater's eyes still on him, and adjusted his legs. He didn't let himself glance over his shoulder as he started to move towards the door.

_What?_ Erik asked, clearly startled.

_I'm leaving. Please help me back down to the street, immediately._

Ugly Sweater stepped in front of his chair.

"Oh, come on, Wheels, I was messing with you," he said.

"I would like you to step out of my way so I can leave," Charles said. He tried to back up and redirect himself, but Ugly Sweater stepped in front of him again.

"Lighten up, would you? It's a party, man."

Charles could feel his teeth grinding against each other.

There was an easy solution to all of this. There was a highly illegal, easy solution. He could just...move Ugly Sweater. Charles could slip inside of Ugly Sweater and have him step out of the way. Charles could make him think he urgently had to use the bathroom. He could make Ugly Sweater suddenly decide to run off into the rainy night, stripping.

And then, when Ugly Sweater came back to himself and realized what happened, Charles could kiss a PhD goodbye and head off to psychic isolation in prison.

( _Or,_ a quiet voice in the back of his head told him, _You could take his memories. You could slip in and have him move and have him forget this conversation. They'd never know. You'd be the only one who knew. You could do it. You know you could._ )

"You're being very rude," Charles said. "I'm trying to leave."

"Yeah, well, you're being rude by leaving the party before it's over," Ugly Sweater said, and took one advancing step on Charles.

That was, of course, when Erik showed up.

"Hey," Erik said, breathless, hair askew, looking like someone had their hands all over him. "Why are you—"

_This is not the time to argue with me. If you want to argue, we can do it outside. I want out of here immediately,_ Charles told him crisply. He prayed his desperation didn't shine through, but he didn't have high hopes for that.

"Okay," Erik said quietly. He raised his hand and his jacket flew up from the corner and smacked into his palm. "Let's go."

Then he looked away from Charles and saw the problem.

"Hey, man, we're trying to get out of here," he said.

"As I was telling Wheels, here, it's not nice to leave a party before it's over," Ugly Sweater said.

Erik's expression hardened.

"What did you just call him?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Erik!" Charles snapped. "Leaving. Now."

Erik raised his hand again and waved it in front of Ugly Sweater, who was unceremoniously tugged out of their way. Charles made a break for it, wheeling quickly towards the front door, which Erik opened hands free, before Charles felt the strange sensation of Erik's powers taking hold of his chair and lowering it delicately from the top of the four concrete steps of the front stoop and onto the ground. Not for the first time, Charles was glad he went with the titanium alloy frame over the aluminium. 

It was still raining, but Charles breathed easier once he was on the concrete outside.

At least until Ugly Sweater followed them out onto the sidewalk.

"What's wrong, Wheels? You don't like the party?" he shouted. "You can't take a little fun?"

Charles was prepared to start rolling towards home, ignoring Ugly Sweater and assuming he'd get cold or bored of following. Beside Charles, however, Erik had gone rigid.

"Erik, _ignore him_ ," Charles said.

"I'm not going to ignore him," Erik said. "Nobody gets to talk to you that way." He spun around, taking a step toward Ugly Sweater. "What is your fucking problem?" 

"My problem is that this is supposed to be a fucking party!" Ugly Sweater shouted, waving his arms. "And your friend here was just sitting there with his nose in the air and a stick up his ass like he's so much better than the rest of us!"

"That's because he is," Erik said. 

He was standing very still, his shoulders up and tense. Everything about his posture was sending out warning signals, but Ugly Sweater either didn't notice, or—more likely—didn't care. He laughed, snide and grating. "Yeah, right."

"Erik," Charles said vehemently, " _let's go_ ," but Erik ignored him.

"Fuck you, asswipe," Erik spit out, and before Charles could say another word, threw himself at the guy.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Charles said, disgusted.

Erik got in the first punch, straight to Ugly Sweater's nose, but Ugly Sweater rallied quickly by tackling Erik to the ground. They rolled around on the sidewalk and onto the wet grass and mud of the lawn.

Someone must have spotted them from a window, because after a minute or two people began flowing outside from the party to stand at the sidelines and gawk and yell and cheer.

Charles, meanwhile, was getting more and more pissed off, an ice cold anger in the pit of his stomach. He should just leave Erik there and go home himself—that was what he _wanted_ to do—but he couldn't quite do it.

After what felt like ages but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, two more upperclassmen waded into the fray to break up the fight and pull them apart.

"Ben," one of them said to Ugly Sweater, "come inside and we'll get some ice for your eye. And Aaron, take care of your fucking boyfriend."

Aaron rushed forward to flit ineffectively around Erik, but Erik pushed him away immediately, wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his hand as he scanned the crowd for Charles. When Erik spotted him, he waded through the crowd, grinning triumphantly.

"Don't even look at me like that," Charles snapped. "Don't even—" 

"He was talking shit about you!" Erik said. "What the fuck did you expect me to—"

"Don't talk to me right now!" Charles shouted. "I'm so—"

He couldn't even find words. He pivoted and started down the sidewalk. He didn't care if Erik followed him. If he had to say one more thing to Erik, to look at his stupid, smug, bloody mouth and knuckles for one more second, he was going to do something he regretted.

"Hey!" Erik said, and Charles heard him rush to follow. "Charles!"

Charles pushed faster down the sidewalk. The pushrims of his chair were freezing and damp on his bare hands and he was hot with resentment for Erik. It was Erik, ultimately, who put him in that position, who stuck him at that stupid party with his stupid boyfriend's stupid superior friends. It was Erik who picked a fucking fight, like Charles couldn't defend himself, like Charles needed someone to chase off anyone who might hurt his feelings.

He wanted to strangle Erik. He just kept rolling down the sidewalk, flinching when he coasted through puddles he couldn't avoid, building up to quite a rant about how Erik had no right, how Erik was going to get his scholarship revoked, how Erik needed to leave him the fuck alone and mind his own business sometimes.

He knew Erik wasn't following him any longer. It was a minute or two until he figured out why, Erik's car rolling up to keep pace with Charles.

"Come on, get in the car, Charles," Erik said.

"Leave me alone!" Charles shouted back.

"You're not wearing gloves, your hands must be freezing," Erik said. "Come on. Mom'll kill me if I have to tell her over Thanksgiving that you got sick because you wouldn't get in the car."

"I swear to god, Erik," Charles said through clenched teeth, "if you don't leave me alone—"

He stopped short in front of a huge puddle spanning the whole sidewalk. He couldn't tell how deep it was, or how wet he would get trying to glide through it. He glared at the puddle, then turned and glared at Erik and his stupid fucking car and his stupid fucking pleading face.

"Fine," he said through his teeth. "Fucking fine."

They were old hat at packing themselves into Erik's car, but Charles refused all of Erik's usual help out of spite. No doors opened with Erik's powers, no shortcut off the sidewalk. Charles folded his chair up by hand and put it in the backseat, dripping all over the both of them in the process. Erik must have caught on to Charles' frustration, because he said and did nothing until Charles was settled inside.

"You're pissed at me," Erik said once he started driving again.

"Yes, I'm bloody pissed at you," Charles muttered, staring out the window.

"No one's allowed to talk about you like that, okay?" Erik said. The twenty minutes it would have taken Charles to get back to campus on his own would be knocked down to less than five in the car. "Fuck that guy, he's a prick and he doesn't know anything. You are better than him. You're better than that whole stupid party."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his head against the window.

"You know I hate fighting. You know I hate _you_ fighting and you know I especially hate you fighting over me, and yet you _persist_ in doing it anyway," Charles said.

"You're worth fighting over," Erik said firmly.

Charles was quiet for a moment, letting that settle into his gut, disgusted at how far that went to settling some of his anger. He sighed quietly.

"When you pick a fight for me like that, it says two things: that I condone violence and that I can't take care of myself."

"Both of those things are bullshit," Erik said.

"Then we disagree," Charles said. "And I am wet and tired and angry and humiliated and I've been half of those things for over an hour now, so I would like to go back to campus and go back to my dorm and go to bed."

"Fine," Erik muttered.

The rest of the ride was silent. When they got back to campus, Charles quickly reassembled his chair and headed back to his room. He wasn't surprised to feel Erik following him. He sighed, but didn't say anything until they reached his door and he turned around.

In the light, Erik looked bad. He was soaked and caked in mud. His lip was bleeding, he had a scratch over his eye, and his knuckles were raw and bloody. With his hair hanging in his eyes and his hangdog expression, Charles could feel his resolve to slam the door in Erik's face buckling.

"Come in," he finally said. "I'm going to clean you up and then I'm going to bed and you're going to bed somewhere else because I might suffocate you with a pillow otherwise."

"I'm fine," Erik said, but as he spoke, his lip broke open again and blood sluggishly began to drip down his face.

"You're going to be the death of me," Charles muttered and unlocked the door. "Go wash your face and then come back here."

He hated himself a little for delaying the long hot shower he wanted to take for Erik's sake, but better to have Erik out of his hair for the night before he started to relax.

Erik came back a few minutes later, texting one handed and sitting on the edge of Charles' bed.

"I can't believe my fuckwit boyfriend won't come back to campus to fuck," he muttered as Charles put the first aid kit down next to him. "Now how am I gonna get rid of all this adrenaline?"

Tonight was really ranking up there in the top ten worst nights of Charles' recent memory.

"That's your problem," Charles said with a sigh. "Stop talking, let me fix you up, and then let me sleep."

Erik managed to keep quiet for almost five minutes, which was both long enough for Charles to bandage and apply Neosporin to the worst of his injuries, and also four and a half minutes longer than he was expecting. It wasn't until Charles began to pack the supplies away that Erik spoke again.

"I didn't mean to piss you off." Erik raised one hand up to his head, wincing as he touched his forehead.

"Leave it alone, you idiot," Charles said. He wheeled away from the bed, turning from Erik to put away the first aid kit.

"I mean it," Erik said. "I don't want you to be mad at me."

"Then don't _do_ this shit!" Charles said. It sounded more weary than angry, really. He was too tired by now to keep up the same level of emotion. "It's not that hard, Erik."

"Yes, it is!" Erik said. "It is for me! I can't just stand back and watch while people are being assholes, okay? You know that. I can't do it when people are being shits to you, I can't do it when it means keeping quiet when people are furthering mutant oppression—"

"No," Charles interrupted, " _no_. You do not get to have the moral high ground here. You just attacking some drunk hipster douche is not the equivalent of political activism—"

"Ugh!" Erik flung his arms in the air in frustration. "Why are you being so stubborn about this? I'm trying to apologize."

"Well, you're really bad at it, then," Charles snapped back.

Erik was silent, his mouth pursed tight. It probably hurt his sore lip. Well, if so, he deserved it.

"Whatever," Charles said. "I'm going to take a shower and put on some clean pajamas."

"Fine," Erik muttered.

By the time Charles returned from the bathroom, Erik was passed out on the floor. He hadn't even bothered to get out his bedroll or pillow, had apparently just curled up on his side next to the bed, still in his filthy clothes.

So much for adrenaline.

Charles briefly considered waking him up so he could throw him out, but it seemed like too much work, exhausted as he was. He couldn't deal with Erik anymore tonight.

Erik woke up the next morning with a crick in his neck from his sleeping position, aches all over from the fight, and a hangover to boot. Charles took a petty satisfaction in all of it.

He definitely still wasn't in the mood to spend the day with Erik like he normally did on Sundays, so after breakfast he dragged Hank along with him to the library.

"He started a fight?" Hank said, blinking behind his glasses. "That's so stupid."

"I know!" Charles said. "I'm just—I can't believe he did that. It's not the first time, either, and I've made it very clear to him countless times that I hate fighting and especially hate when he's fighting because of me. And still he persists! I don't know what's wrong with him."

Hank just shook his head.

It was weird—Charles appreciated his boyfriend taking his side, not to mention the fact that unlike some people, _he wasn't a crazy reckless asshole_ —but it didn't feel as good as he had expected it to. It was as if once Hank agreed with him, something contrary inside Charles wanted to pick a fight, defend Erik's idiocy. Erik had meant well. He only did these stupid things because he loved Charles.

He figured it was best to change the subject.

"Want to come over before break to try out those nipple clamps?" he asked quietly. Hank's eyes widened and he nodded eagerly.

"I have some theories about your nipples that I'd like to try out," Hank said, smiling slowly.

"My kind of theories," Charles said, and he couldn't help laughing as he did so.

Charles liked Hank a lot. He was so smart and they had a lot of fun together and the sex was _amazing_ but...well. He kept waiting for a spark. He'd had a spark with Moira, regardless of Erik's existence in the background. He felt a sort of fission when he was with her, a temptation to do silly sentimental things, the urge to be around her as often as he could. With Erik—well, with Erik, he'd stepped into what he thought was a puddle and nearly been washed out to sea. But even with Lilandra this summer, that all consuming need to be around her and talk to her and know her inside out had taken him over.

It never came with Hank. He liked spending time with Hank, but he didn't precisely miss him when they were apart. He loved the sex and was so grateful to Hank for being there for him as he figured all of it out, for experimenting with him, for having as much fun as he did. But Hank still didn't always feel so much like a boyfriend as he did a really good friend with whom Charles had a lot of sex.

It was something to think over while he was home for Thanksgiving, maybe. For the moment, with Erik on his shitlist, it just seemed like one more thing he didn't have the energy to explore fully.

Charles spent the rest of the day with Hank, lunch and then Minecraft in the lounge, followed by making use of those nipple clamps in Charles' room. Hank's experiments were mostly successful, and by the time they were cleaned up and Hank was leaving for dinner, Charles felt mellow enough that he didn't throw anything at Erik when he let himself in and sat on the edge of Charles' bed.

"It makes me mad that anyone would look at you and not see what I see," Erik said abruptly. "It's not really about you. I mean, it is, because it's you, but I'm not ever...trying to protect you or whatever you said last night. I don't know. You're worth more than that guy and it doesn't matter what he says, but I feel like...like I don't know. It makes me angry."

"I know," Charles allowed. He was sprawled on his bed; before Erik came in he'd been thinking about skipping the dining hall in favor of eating Cheerios out of the box to avoid moving more than he had to. He shifted himself over some, which Erik took as an invitation to lay down next to him.

"I don't want you to be mad at me," Erik said.

"Well, I don't want you to get into fights, so we don't always get what we want, either of us," Charles said. Erik was quiet for a moment. "It's still about me," he added. "And from my side it doesn't make me look good or feel good and I wish you wouldn't."

Erik didn't say anything after that—he didn't apologize or promise not to do it again. He did roll over and wrap his arms around Charles' waist and stay quiet for another few minutes, which was a victory of a sort.

They were still a little careful around each other the rest of the evening, and most of the next day, but by Tuesday things seemed to have settled back into their status quo. Erik made a last ditch attempt Wednesday morning to convince Charles to change his mind and spend Thanksgiving with the Lehnsherrs, but Charles stood firm and went back to Westchester instead.

He proceeded to spend the entire long weekend regretting that choice. Raven, who was really the main reason Charles bothered to go back, was too busy to pay him much attention at all. She spent half the time he was home working on her college apps (she'd narrowed it down to three other possibilities, along with Claremont Hills as her first choice) and the other half on her phone, giggling and flirting with a girl from her English class. 

Cain was home, too, which was an unexpected and unpleasant surprise. Charles wasn't scared of him—he hadn't been for a long time, really—but just his presence lent a sickly psychic air to the house. Charles ended up spending most of his visit holed up in his bedroom, playing dumb games on his computer, avoiding everyone else and counting down the hours until he could head back to school.

Charles had thought Erik brought back a lot of leftovers last Thanksgiving, but it was nothing compared to his haul this year. Charles was a little uncertain they were going to get through it all before the semester ended, honestly.

"How much cooking does your mom _do_?" Charles said, eyeing the towering pile of tupperware. "There are only four of you, for god's sake, you're not a small country."

"Well, I mean, to be fair, she didn't do all the cooking herself," Erik said. "Ruth did a lot of the baking—she made both those pies for you—and Dad does the turkey. And I help a lot with the other stuff."

"That still would only explain it if there was some ridiculous sitcom-style miscommunication and you each made a full sized meal without telling each other," Charles informed him.

"I think she worries I'm not eating right at school," Erik said reflectively. 

"God, probably," Charles said. "Your mother's smart. She must have figured out over the years that you think sugar and fried things are two of the core food groups."

Erik shrugged and levitated two forks out of Charles' desk drawer, floating it over to two of them, quickly followed by one of the pie pans. 

Charles estimated they probably ended up eating pie, green bean casserole, and candied sweet potatoes for at least fifty percent of their meals that week.

Charles was just getting out of class on Monday afternoon when he received a text from Hank.

_Do you want to hang out tonight?_

_Yeah, of course! Meet in my room in an hour or so?_

_Sure. Want me to bring anything?_

_Nope, just yourself._

_See you then!_

As Charles set his phone back into his bag, tugging his gloves back on over his hands, he had the sudden realization that not only had he and Hank not really texted or emailed back and forth over the weekend, but—well, he hadn't thought much about Hank at all. He'd had every intention of putting aside some time to really think about their relationship, even, and he just...hadn't.

That probably said an uncomfortable amount on its own, didn't it? Damn.

No. He didn't want to think about that right now. Awkward self-realizations could wait a little bit longer. First he just wanted to cuddle a little and talk about an article on dinosaurs he read over Thanksgiving and maybe give his boyfriend a blowjob. That wasn't so much to ask, was it?

When Charles got to his room, Erik was already there. He was lying sideways on the bed, feet up against the wall and his head lying over the edge of the mattress as he frowned up at the ceiling with an accusatory expression.

"I'm really blocked on this paper," Erik said.

"Hello to you, too, my dear," Charles responded. He stripped off his scarf, gloves, and hoodie (well, the hoodie was technically Erik's, but by this point Charles had more or less claimed it as his own), setting them all down on his desk along with his bag.

"Seriously, though," Erik continued.

"Have you tried just writing it like you're giving an impromptu rant? You never seem to lack for words then."

Erik sighed, long and dramatic. "Will you read this over for me? I've rewritten so many times that it's just mashed potatoes to me at this point."

Charles paused to consider that. "I don't know if I understand that metaphor."

"Exactly," Erik said. "Imagine what shit I'm actually writing down."

"Okay, okay," Charles said, laughing. "But it's going to have to wait until after dinner. Hank's coming over."

"That's fine. Hank can read it too." 

"Sorry, I phrased that badly," Charles said, shaking his head. "What I should have said was, I'm kicking you out."

Erik squinched his face up. Between that and being upside down, it was maybe the least attractive he'd ever looked. Charles rather wished he had a camera handy, but his phone was in his bag across the room, and Erik was moving a moment later, anyway, rolling off Charles' bed in a single smooth motion to stand up and stretch.

"I can't believe you keep blowing me off for a guy," Erik complained. "I'm your best friend."

"Yes, you are," Charles agreed. "And we'll hang out later, and I'll help you with your paper, then. We don't have to be together every single second, you know."

Erik sighed again. If possible, it was even more dramatic and long-suffering this time. " _Fine_ ," he said, significantly elongating the vowel sound. "I'll just go and sit in my room. Alone. Unloved."

Erik had broken up with Aaron two days after the party, which meant he'd been single now for an entire week. To be fair, Charles supposed, most of those days he had been six hours away from school.

"Isn't Tom around?" Charles said. "I'm sure he'd be willing to give you attention. Maybe you two could play foosball."

Erik's face scrunched up again.

"One day you'll stop pretending you don't enjoy his company," Charles said. "Now get out of here. I'll see you at dinner."

Erik dragged himself out of Charles' room, leaving most of his belongings behind. Charles rolled his eyes at the closed door and set about neatening up the room for Hank.

In the end, Hank and Charles were so busy discussing the merits of the dinosaur article that Charles almost forgot they were supposed to be having sex. With one eye on the clock, Charles gave Hank a lightning fast blowjob, the thrill of which both of them enjoyed perhaps more than they should have. 

"You definitely look like you just blew someone," Hank told him, tapping his mouth when they left for dinner mere minutes later, and Charles found himself strangely proud of the fact.

When they joined their usual group in the dining hall—not the first to arrive, but not the last either—Erik turned to ask him a question and froze, staring at him strangely for a second.

"Yes?" Charles asked. "Is something wrong?"

"I—no," Erik said. He shook his head clear. "I just, for a second—nevermind. Before I broke up with Aaron, I scored some more of the good vodka from him. I'll bring it to work on the paper?"

That was a perk of Erik's relationship with Aaron that Charles would definitely miss. Aaron was always happy to buy Erik whatever he wanted from the liquor store, took pride in it, even, since Erik was notorious about not accepting any sort of gifts from his boyfriends. Erik figured the alcohol wasn't really a gift, since Erik always paid for it himself. The first time, though, had been more than a little awkward. Aaron had shown up with a case of craft beer and a bottle of locally produced gin, clearly ready to have sex. Erik had taken the beer and gin, paid Aaron, and then closed the door in his face and climbed back into bed with Charles to watch more of Tom's _Simpsons_ DVDs.

"The last time I drunk!wrote a paper with you it didn't go too well," Charles reminded him.

"Then we'll have it after to celebrate," Erik said firmly.

"Fine," Charles said. "But not too much celebrating, or getting up for art in the morning will be even more excruciating than usual."

They ended up working not just on Erik's paper, but one of Charles' as well. And the next night, they had their final project for their art course to start brainstorming about. The semester's end was only a few weeks away, and their professors were starting to stack up final projects, extra-credit papers, and exam study sessions. Charles' schedule became packed with studying that was bookended by lazy hours lying in bed with Erik watching mindless television and trying not to think about how much work he still had to do before the end of term.

And trying not to think about Hank.

Because he still saw Hank over those weeks. Hank was brilliant, he was the perfect person to muse over lab results with and talk to about science papers. They spent hours in the library cramming together and exchanging tips on the slowly concluding experiment they were doing in their one shared mutant bio class. But they only had sex once or twice, and while Charles missed the orgasms, he couldn't say that wasn't getting just as much out of their study sessions.

It was becoming clear that he and Hank worked much better as friends than they did as lovers.

He brought it up with a week to go before final exams, when he and Hank were alone in his room, reading over notes, Charles sitting at his desk while Hank lounged on the bed.

"Hey," he said. He hadn't actually been planning to talk about it that afternoon in particular, but with Erik shacked up with his latest boyfriend for a few hours, the timing seemed right. "So, I was thinking...um, you know you're one of my best friends, Hank. And I really like hanging out with you. And I really—um, the sex means a lot to me. Being able to do all that with you for the first time, knowing you were just as excited as I was and that you weren't going to judge me for not, um, being able to do everything all the time?"

Hank's face was carefully blank. He sat up, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his long legs.

"Yeah," Hank said. "Me too, I mean. I mean, obviously...obviously, it's different for you, with your disability, but I can relate to the awkwardness." His expression twisted into a self-deprecating smile. "I think 'awkward' is probably in the top five words people use to describe me."

Charles smiled at that.

"It's cute," he said. "It's not—I like that about you, that you're not always sure of things and you kind of act like that's okay? I like a lot of things about you, but I also feel like, when we're together—the sex is great, but it's kind of an afterthought to the science and the talking and...everything else." He takes a deep breath. "I just think...well, I feel like maybe it makes more sense if we just stay friends."

Hank's face cleared and he looked—he looked relieved. He sighed, happily.

"I'm so glad you said it," Hank said. "I feel the same way. I feel like I've learned so much from you—sex, I mean, with sex, that's what I'm talking about now. And I had so much fun. But I always thought—well, it never quite felt like desire, the way I've felt desire. It felt like...lust and trust. Which isn't bad, but maybe isn't sustainable."

Charles smiled slowly.

"That's a really beautiful way to put it," he said. "And you're absolutely right. And I'm so glad you trusted me enough to do this with me. I hope you know that I trust you, too."

"I do know, yes," Hank said. He was smiling, too.

"Good," Charles said. "That's good. I'm so glad." 

They smiled at each other for a few moments longer, until Hank said, "We should probably get back to work..."

"Yeah," Charles said. "Okay, let's go over the data again."

It was possibly, Charles thought, the most chill break-up in history. It was a big weight off his shoulders, too, knowing that the two of them felt the same. Without that to nag at the back of his mind, it was easy to give all his attention to surviving finals.

There was one more surprise left relating to him and Hank, though, and that was that Erik noticed something had changed. 

He brought it up the day before they left for break. Both of them had finished their exams, and Charles was in Erik's room, sitting and watching while Erik packed for home.

"So you and Hank..." Erik said, turning from his closet with an armful of shirts. 

Charles blinked. It was a somewhat abrupt conversation shift; they'd previously been discussing Erik's Spanish final.

"We broke up, yes," Charles said.

"Oh." Erik dumped his clothes in his suitcase and frowned down at the pile. "Is that—I mean, are you okay?"

"I'm great," Charles said. He wasn't sure whether to be touched or weirded out. "It was mutual, and I think it's really for the best."

Erik nods. "Okay. Good. That's good." He paused. "Ruth was worried, you know, she texted me about it and like...wanted to make sure I was taking care of you. Not that you need taking care of, but you know."

"That's very sweet of her, and you, but absolutely unnecessary," Charles said firmly. "You can tell her that."

"Good," Erik said again. He abandoned his luggage and threw himself down on the bed, next to Charles. "I can't believe we're not going to see each other for a month. It's going to suck so bad."

"We've done it before," Charles pointed out.

"Yeah, and it sucked then, too." Erik rested his head on Charles' shoulder. "Let's not even sleep tonight. We'll just stay up all night hanging out and cram in as much time as we can before we have to split tomorrow."

"I like that idea," Charles said. "We can finish off your mom's cookies and see if we can finish our playthrough of _Assassin's Creed_."

It was a nice note to go out on. The next day Erik packed all his junk into his car and drove off, and Charles headed back to another month at home.


	16. now

It's been about a week and a half since Erik and Charles got together—maybe the best week and a half of Erik's life—when Charles shows up to lunch with a harried expression and color high on his cheeks.

"How bloody many ex-boyfriends do you _have_?" Charles says in greeting, setting his tray onto the table with a thump.

"I don't know," Erik says. "I never really counted them up?"

"Well, after this week I could probably make a list for you," Charles mutters, cutting his sandwich in half a little more aggressively than Erik thought it deserved.

"Why?" Erik asks. "What's wrong? Are they like...fucking with you?" He has no problem beating the crap out of any of his exes who are bothering Charles. He'll take great satisfaction from it, even.

"No," Charles says. He smacks his knife back onto the table and sighs. "They just...look at me. They stare at me, glaring. One of them cried. It's just...disconcerting."

"They've never done that before," Erik muses. He's had...okay, so maybe he's had a lot of boyfriends in the past two years. There was Janos, then what's his name and...that other guy. And Aaron and...probably there were two more before Aaron this year? And then Dom and....

Okay, he's had _a lot_ of boyfriends.

The point is, though, that he's never noticed any of them freaking out when he took up with someone new. They were upset a lot of the time when he dumped them, but that was all. Fuck, he's pretty sure most of them are friends, or at least friendly.

_Look very casually to your left,_ Charles tells him, and it's only Charles squeezing his arm that keeps him from whipping his head around immediately. There's Telford, sitting alone and—hell, Charles is right. He's glaring at Charles like he wants to set Charles on fire with his mind.

(He quickly refreshes his memory on Telford's mutation to assure himself this can't actually happen.)

When Erik turns more fully, Telford sees him and melts into a smile and wave for Erik. Erik frowns at him and then turns back to Charles, firmly and visibly taking his hand again.

"Fuck," he says. "They've never done that before."

"Yes," Charles says, "well, you've always dated in their ranks before. As far as I can tell, they're upset because...well, they saw themselves all on the same level playing field, but they see me as...elevated. More important to you."

"You are," Erik says automatically. "They were...and you are...."

He makes a hand motion that he hopes communicates, 'they were warm bodies; I love you.'

"I know, darling," Charles says, and a smile flits across his face. "But that's why they're so upset. I'm not one of them, I'm someone you can love."

"Someone I _do_ love," Erik corrects.

"I think you're getting bogged down in the particulars," Charles says.

"I think fuck them, they should leave you alone," Erik says.

"You did," Charles reminds him, "and they will eventually. It's just...jarring now, to walk around and keep finding _more_ of them, all silently plotting my downfall."

Erik glances at Telford again. Then, over in the corner, he sees Jason and Byron, talking quietly to each other and shooting looks over at Erik and Charles. When they see Erik looking at them, they, too, grin and wave, then go back to...to plotting.

They're plotting. They're all plotting against Charles.

"Fuck, Moira's right," he murmurs, astonished. "I made them all evil."

"Erik, you're very talented and you have a lovely cock, but I don't think you're quite that powerful," Charles says. He squeezes Erik's hand and Erik finally looks back to him. He looks...amused. He should probably be fearing for his life.

"Don't be alone with any of them!" Erik tells him.

"That's something I try to avoid on principle, but I promise you, they're not conspiring to murder me," Charles says. "I'd know if they were."

"There are other ways of messing with you besides just murdering you," Erik argues. He thinks for a moment. "Maybe I should go talk to them. Tell them to back off."

He starts to rise from his seat, but Charles tightens his hold, pulling Erik firmly back down. 

"That is a terrible idea," Charles says. He's over-enunciating his words a little. "Honestly, Erik. They're harmless. Incredibly irritating, mind you, but still harmless."

"Fine," Erik says. He takes another bite of his burger before trying to glance back over out of the corner of his eye.

"And stop staring at them!" Charles insists.

"I'm being subtle!"

"You're subtle like a brick. You've never been inconspicuous in your life."

Erik stops craning his neck and turns back to his lunch with a sigh. "You'll tell me if any of them tries to mess with you, though, right?"

"Yes, Erik," Charles says, in the tone that usually means he's humoring Erik. At least he sounds fond, not impatient. Erik will take it.

"It you want," Erik suggests, "you could have Moira threaten to rough me up a little. Just so we're even."

Charles' mouth quirks. "She would probably enjoy that."

"Are you kidding?" Erik says, raising an eyebrow. "She would _definitely_ enjoy that."

Charles laughs out loud. Erik's so pleased with himself that he has to lean over and kiss him, stupid creepy voyeuristic exes be damned. Charles tastes like peanut butter.

The whole thing sticks in his head over the next couple of days. Erik doesn't think about it a lot, exactly—he has more than enough on his mind, between Charles, school, his family, and keeping up with mutant current affairs—but it definitely pops up once in a while when he's not really expecting it. 

Which is pretty weird, because Erik barely thought about his boyfriends when he was dating them. He's absolutely never thought about them after he dumped them. 

It takes him the better part of four days to realize that he feels...kind of bad about that.

When he was dating those guys, he looked at Charles' dating style as kind of weird and foreign. Charles always treated Moira and Hank like they were one of the most important people in his life. He went out and did things with them. He held their hands. He went to Moira's softball games, even though he didn't care about softball. He played Halo with Hank even though he didn't like Halo. He talked to them, a lot, and he studied with them and ate with them and went places with them.

Charles has always been the most important person in Erik's life, even when he was dating other people. Charles fulfilled about 95% of his needs and he had his boyfriends for sex and the occasional concert that Charles wouldn't go to. He dated guys who were annoying and clingy and boring, but hot. He always figured he didn't have any need for them beyond sex. He figured that there was no reason to get to know them beyond what he needed them for, but...well, it was possible he never really gave them a chance, either.

In fact he...kind of treated them like garbage.

Oh god, Erik is a _bad boyfriend_.

He's in the middle of class when the thought hits him, and he's sure his jaw is just shy of hitting his desk. Fuck. He's a _terrible_ boyfriend. He was a terrible boyfriend to all his stupid ex-boyfriends and there's a horrible chance this means he'll be a terrible boyfriend to _Charles_.

"Shit," he whispers out loud. It's loud enough that the students on either side of him turn to look at him. 

He can't fuck this up. He can't fuck up the thing with Charles. If he loses Charles he loses _everything_. His entire _life_ for the past two years has been built around Charles, how can he go on if he pushes Charles away? Who will he be? What will he do? How could he just go out into a world where Charles hated him, where Charles hated him because of something Erik did? Or didn't do? What if Erik like, forgets their anniversary? Would Charles care? Would Charles leave him? What is their anniversary? Has he already forgotten it? Oh _fuck_.

He leaves class in a frenzy, twitching and antsy, even more than usual. He walks through the halls with a frantic purpose, nearly running down anyone who gets in his way. He ignores a few people who call out his name, ignores everything until he's bursting into Charles' room. Charles looks up from his reading, sharply alarmed at Erik's intrusion.

"Charles!" Erik says, breathless. Charles raises his eyebrows. "I'm...I'm not a good boyfriend!"

"That's not true, in my experience," Charles says slowly.

"No, no," Erik says. "I mean, all those other guys—I was just...I was terrible. I was the worst. I ignored them and I didn't care about what they did or what they liked and I didn't—I didn't need anything from them, because I got everything from you. You were already, like—so important. _So_ important that I didn't need them, so I treated them like...like shit."

He crosses the room and kneels down in front of Charles, taking his hands and squeezing them.

"I'm a shithead and I'm going to keep being a shithead because I _know_ me, so you have to call me on my shit, okay? You have to...to tell me when I'm being an asshole so I don't make you...hate me."

He stares up at Charles pleadingly. 

"Erik," Charles says, squeezing back. "I honestly don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Yeah, but what if it is?" Erik says. "You don't know for sure!" He can't take that chance. There's no way.

"I do know for sure," Charles tells him. "I know it because I know _you_. I love you, but I don't worship you the way those guys did. You're brilliant, but you're also a total idiot. I've always called you on your bullshit, haven't I? That's how we met."

That's...a fair point, actually. 

"None of that is going to change just because we're together now."

Erik lets out a deep breath. He can feel his pulse begin to slow back down to a reasonable rate. "You promise?"

"I absolutely promise I will always tell you when you are being a total asshole," Charles says, mouth twitching as he obviously tries to hold back a smile. 

The relief is overwhelming. Erik sighs and starts to gets up, but once he's on his feet again, Charles tugs him forward, and Erik lets himself be pulled into Charles' lap and hugged close.

"I love you so much, Erik," Charles says again, nuzzling Erik's shoulder. "But even so, if you treated me like that, I would never date you. Unlike those guys, I actually have self-respect. But I can't see it ever happening that way, because nothing in our friendship to date makes me think that's possible."

"I just—" Erik trails off. It's hard to find the words to explain what he means. "I don't want to fuck this up. I can't. I can't let that happen. And—seriously, Charles, I treated them _so bad_."

"I'm not going to argue that you weren't a total dick to every single one of them," Charles says. "You totally were. What I'm saying is, I don't think that has that much relevance to you and me."

Erik half-turns so he can rest his forehead against Charles' and search his eyes. He can tell that Charles is completely, one hundred percent sincere—and also, annoyingly, a little amused, which he doesn't seem to particularly be trying to hide.

"Look at it this way," Charles says, letting his grin slowly bloom across his face. "Would you have come and had this conversation with any of them? No, right? Not in a million years. You wouldn't have cared enough. And just think about how many adorable boyfriend bonus points you're racking up right now."

"Really?" Erik says, and Charles nods, smiling even wider. "Huh. Cool."

"Mmmhmm," Charles agrees. He tilts his head and kisses Erik's nose, then the apples of both cheeks, and, once Erik has closed his eyes, his eyelids as well, feather soft. It makes Erik want to shiver.

"I don't mean to be an asshole," Erik says. 

"Well, sometimes you do," Charles says. "But I like you anyway."

There is no way on Earth Erik deserves Charles, he's pretty sure. But maybe it doesn't matter, if Charles doesn't care.

Although—what if other people care? Erik remembers, suddenly, the weird look Hank gave Charles the day they told everyone, and the silent conversation the two of them had. Erik's spent a lot of time feeling needled by all the people who seemed to already know the two of them belonged together, but now he can't help but wonder if there are those other people, too. People who see them together and know what a terrible boyfriend Erik is and think he's going to treat Charles like crap. People who wonder why Charles is with him at all.

"You're being very silly right now," Charles says. 

"But does he?" Erik asks. "Does Hank think I'm going to be a bad boyfriend? Do other people? Are people like, holding interventions asking you what the hell you're doing?"

Charles licks his lips and then bites his tongue thoughtfully.

"Some people, Hank included, have expressed their suggestion that I be careful," he finally says. "But I think I know you better than anyone, and after nearly two years of friendship, I know what I'm getting into. People who saw you with your exes and see your speeches and the way you act in class and at shows, they have certain assumptions. But they didn't live with you for a month this summer. They don't spend all their time with you. They haven't seen you vulnerable, they haven't learned to trust you like I have." He curls his hands up around Erik's shoulders, holding him firmly in place. "I trust you with my life, Erik. And I don't trust people lightly."

Charles would know. Charles knows every terrible thing anyone has ever thought about him. Charles knows people's true motives. Charles' trust is absolute, and it makes Erik's stomach knot, knowing that Charles has placed that trust in him.

But.

"But there are people out there who think I'm going to hurt you," Erik says quietly.

"You probably will," Charles says. He quickly adds, "And I'll hurt you and we'll get over it and we'll move on. That's how relationships work. But what they think doesn't matter, okay? Don't worry about what they think. Don't worry about what Hank or Moira or your sister or your exes think. None of them know what I know about you. None of them know you like I do. Okay?"

Charles has been the most calming, patient, frank, steadfast part of Erik's life. Probably ever. There's probably never been a single thing that can find that quiet place inside of Erik the way that Charles can. At least, there hasn't been one in his memory. He's always been restless and frantic and impatient. He's always done things his own way, at his own speed. And then Shaw turned so much of that impatience into anger, and his therapist taught him how to control that anger, but Charles...Charles quiets it. He redirects it to where it needs to go. And sometimes Erik disagrees with Charles and sometimes he wants to strangle him for being naive and dismissive, but he's never doubted that Charles has his needs, his best interests at heart.

"You're right," Erik says softly. "No one knows me like you do."

"I'm always right," Charles says. "Remember that." He releases his hold on Erik's shoulders, running his hands down Erik's arm. "Are you done freaking out now?"

"I wasn't freaking out," Erik says.

Charles gives him a _look_.

"I wasn't! I was just—" Erik waves his hand vaguely. 

"Fine. You were acting completely normal and not panicking at all," Charles says. "In any case, if you're up for it, I really need to go do some laundry, and I'm going to do you a favor." He nudges Erik gently off of his lap, and Erik stands up.

"A favor?" Erik repeats doubtfully.

"I'm going to give you a chance to prove your dedication to being such a great boyfriend," Charles says. "My laundry bag's right inside the closet. You can carry it while we head down there."

In a different mood, Erik would probably bicker about it, or argue a little, or at the very least roll his eyes. But he's still feeling weirdly emotional right now, like he's inside out. So instead, this time he just says, "Sure, okay" and goes to check Charles' closet.


	17. then

When Charles was little, Christmas was always his favorite holiday. He liked everything about it: presents and snow and Christmas carols and food and peace on Earth and goodwill toward men.

He wasn't sure exactly when that changed. Some time in the last couple of years, he supposed. At some point everything had stopped seeming magical and special and enchanting and just started seeming...fake. Tiring. 

Charles didn't want to be a cynical person. 

Raven still loved Christmas as much as when they were younger, so that was something, at least. Charles was willing to bite down his own ambivalence to keep her holiday special. That meant watching a thousand Christmas-themed movies and TV shows, as well as trimming the tree together. Most of the house was tastefully and subtly decorated for the season in silver and gold, but Raven brought a tree in for "their" den, far away from the rest of the house's occupants, and covered it and the room in glitter and tinsel.

After being so distant over Thanksgiving, Raven had apparently decided she needed to pay more attention to Charles over winter break, which was a relief. Mostly. A relief, but also a little frustrating. 

"I don't understand how I can love her so much, but she still drives me so crazy," he complained to Erik one night. 

"She's your sister. That's how sisters work," Erik said. His voice sounded a little far away—he was in the garage with his car, so Charles assumed he was using his powers to float the phone near his face while he worked. Every once in a while Charles could hear weird metallic noises. "Ruth drives me crazy all the time. I mean, I love her because she's my baby sister, but I don't understand how someone related to me manages to be class president and a cheerleader and prom princess and everything else I hated in high school."

Charles sighed. "You don't get it, though. Raven and I—we're not like you and Ruth. It's complicated."

Erik grunted noncommittally.

"I guess...when Mother and Kurt got married, I was seven and half, and Raven had just turned six. And it was like we just knew each other immediately. Kurt and Cain might be technically related to me by law, which is unfortunate, but from that first instant Raven was my _family_. It was like we were allies, you know? Us against everybody else."

Charles couldn't imagine what it would have been like, growing up in this house without her there. He didn't want to.

"I'm pretty sure it's normal to grow apart when you get older," Erik said vaguely. Charles knew he maybe wasn't the greatest at talking about interpersonal relationships, but he was really making a valiant effort for Charles' sake (even if Charles was sharing his attention with a car), and Charles appreciated it. "But I don't know, you guys still seem pretty close to me."

"We _are_ close," Charles said. "Or—we usually are. She's my favorite person in the world, besides you. That's why it doesn't make sense."

"Well, I mean—shit!" There was a loud clanging and then Erik sighed. "Okay, good. Um—like I was saying, Ruthie is always at her most annoying when I get home for a break from school. Because, like—well, I'm used to living alone. Or, with Tom, but whatever, it's basically like living alone because he's such a douchebag. But, you know. I have my own stuff, my own life and I'm used to doing things my own way and being with you and stuff and it's hard to switch back into the person I was when I last lived with her and was used to her being a brat, so she seems...extra bratty. So, it's probably like that with you, but opposite, because you like Raven. When you come home, you're not used to being her buddy or whatever, you're used to being you on your own."

Charles chewed on his thumb and stared at his ceiling for a moment.

"That is...surprisingly insightful," he said to Erik. 

"I contain multitudes," Erik said absently as something pinged on the other end of the phone, then bounced across the concrete. "The world is bigger now. That's what's so awesome about college."

The world was bigger, it was true. He had more friends and more independence. Charles hadn't been unpopular in high school, but his world had still been contained, and the spectre of so many things hung over him—Kurt, his mother's alcoholism, Cain's bullying, the accident. These days, he had a whole life, a whole social circle, on his own terms. He had Erik, who turned his world upside down.

It was probably silly to think that he and Raven against the world was going to last forever.

"It's just," he said quietly to Erik, "after...after the accident. I didn't have anyone else. I didn't have anyone else for a long time and...things like that...I don't know. They bond you to another person."

All of the clanging on the other end of the phone stopped. All Charles could hear was Erik's breathing.

"You don't...um...talk about that a lot," Erik said carefully.

Erik was the one person at school who knew anything about it. For all that he was completely asocial, rude, and blunt, Erik never actually asked Charles about the wheelchair. He just...accepted it and moved on. He always held doors and helped Charles reach anything metal that was over his head without asking, but Charles got the impression Erik did that for everyone purely because he liked the excuse to use his powers. Not long after winter break last year, though, on a night when Charles was feeling particularly frustrated and candid, he did share a little—mostly about his day to day life and his personal frustrations, how helpless he sometimes felt when confronted with something he needed or wanted that he physically couldn't access himself. He'd given Erik the bare details about the accident—he was twelve, he was riding his bike, someone hit him with their car, he was in the hospital for months, the person was never caught. The lack of justice had flared so brightly in Erik that Charles had been shocked—he probably shouldn't have been. It made a strange sort of sense that it was the fact that the person who hit Charles was still out there that riled Erik the most.

"I don't," Charles allowed quietly. "But...after. And even when I was in the hospital. I was just a burden to my mother and Kurt. I could hear their thoughts about it, was the worst part, what a hassle it was going to be to renovate the house, how they had to cancel their vacation, how I'd be helpless and needy and they'd probably need to hire someone to take care of me. I was invisible to Cain, which was a blessing after five years of being beaten up by him constantly, but also...I was aware that the reason he was ignoring me was because he figured I was too pathetic to fight. But Raven. She just...nothing changed."

Erik made a quiet noise on the other end of the phone. The car noises were still absent. Charles suddenly, viscerally wished that Erik was there with him, that they were having this conversation on Charles' bed, close enough to feel each other's body heat, close enough to touch. 

He closed his eyes.

"She was still my best friend. She did everything with me, still. She helped me when I needed help without making a big deal out of it. She asked me what she could do, and not in a weepy, condescending way like some people did, but just...firm and no nonsense, like she wanted to attend to business so we could move on with our lives."

"That was cool of her," Erik ventured.

"It was," Charles agreed. "I was homeschooled for a while right after and it was just...lonely. Some of my friends from before stopped by occasionally, but mostly it was just me and Raven. And even once I started high school and I was back with other kids my own age and making friends, she was still my constant. And it's...it's weird to think she's not any longer. That I've outgrown her."

"I mean...I don't think you've...outgrown her," Erik said carefully. "I think like...I don't know, like...you've grown, and she still fits where she always did, but because you've grown you have space for other people too. Oh! Like, you know how we have those big stupid cups with the pirates on them? And before we got them, we'd drink from those little plastic cups, and you could fit one beer in them, and now, with the pirate cups, you can fit like, three beers in one. So Raven's one beer, and now you're a pirate cup."

Charles couldn't stop the peal of laughter that tumbled out of him at that. It kept coming, for probably far longer than it should have, some of his tension bleeding out through laughter until he felt the tightness in his stomach start to dissipate.

"Erik, I love you very much," he finally managed to say. "You're brilliant and I love you."

"Yeah, well," Erik said. "I'm like, one and a half of the other beers, so."

Charles laughed again.

"I wish you were here," Charles said. "No, I take that back, it's shit here. I wish I was there."

"Next year," Erik promised. "Because Raven will probably get into Claremont, so you'll see her all the time and you won't feel bad about not being home with her. So just come home with me and you can skip all that Christmas shit, and, most importantly, you'll be here for my twenty-first birthday so we can celebrate it the way it needs to be celebrated."

"I imagine you have the whole thing planned out already," Charles said. 

"Well, obviously," Erik said. The faint mechanical sounds started up again as Erik continued chatting about his awesome plans, and Charles relaxed further into his pillows as Erik's voice washed over him.

He tried to keep Erik's advice about Raven in mind over the next couple days. It helped, he thought, but it could still be a challenge.

The thing was, Raven was in a particularly High Drama phase at the moment. Charles and Raven were only sixteen months apart; sometimes that difference seemed like almost nothing, but other times it seemed to Charles to be an _eternity_. This was one of the latter times. He wasn't sure he was ever that...well, teenagery.

He probably wasn't being fair. He knew that.

The biggest drama centered around the girl Raven had spent Thanksgiving on the phone with. In the weeks in between, she'd been upgraded from crush to girlfriend—Raven's first girlfriend.

Raven talked about her constantly. "She's so pretty, Charles, and she's really funny and sarcastic, and like—she's tiny, but absolutely everyone knows better than to fuck with her, you know? And oh my god, you would be so into her mutation, she has these _wings_..."

Charles idly wondered if this was how he sounded talking about Erik when they first met. He felt vaguely apologetic in hindsight.

Angel was spending Christmas with her huge extended family, who kept her busy enough that she barely had time to text or talk with Raven. Charles rather thought he'd be getting less of Raven's attention otherwise.

"I just wish I was out of this house already," Raven complained, two days before Christmas. They were in her room, Charles on her bed and Raven sprawled out on the floor on her stomach, flipping through a magazine she'd already read. _Prancer_ was playing on her TV, volume down pretty low, but neither of them were paying attention to it.

"You're almost there," Charles said. "Just until August."

"Yeah." Raven sighed. "I just—once I'm out of here, I won't have to hide anymore, you know? At college I won't have to bother using my other face if I don't want to. I won't have to worry about keeping this thing with Angel secret."

"I didn't know it was a secret," Charles said.

Raven abandoned the magazine, rolling over onto her back to look at Charles. "Well, I mean, it's not a secret at school. But here? There's no fucking way my dad can find out before I move out. You know exactly what he's like."

Charles opened his mouth to say that he thought the odds of Kurt actually paying attention to her long enough to notice she had a girlfriend were miniscule. The words were on the tip of his tongue when he realized how badly that comment was most likely to come across. Although Charles was sure that Raven could make out with Angel in front of Kurt and his mother without either of them doing more than sighing, he was suddenly just as sure that she would throw a fit at him for saying so.

He closed his mouth. Something of it must have shown on his face, though, because she frowned at him and sat up.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Charles insisted. "I just...I do know what he's like." That seemed to be the safest route.

"You're not out to them!" she said accusingly, pointing at him.

"I'm not," he agreed, although it was less out of a fear of repercussions and more out of a desire to speak with his parents as little as possible, a desire they seemed to share. He'd never been dating a boy at a time when he'd crossed their paths, so it never came up. "I'm just saying...eight months isn't long at all. It seems long, but it's not."

Raven sighed and flopped back onto the floor.

"It's easy for you to say that, when you're off on your own, doing whatever you want, hanging out with Erik and your friends and your boyfri—" 

She covered her mouth quickly.

"It's okay," Charles said, just as quickly. "It was really amicable. I was the one who brought up the split and Hank was relieved because he'd been thinking the same thing. We're just better friends."

"Still," Raven said, relaxing slightly. "That's sad. I guess I just feel bad. Gabby and Moira and Hank and all and...I don't know. Being in love now, it makes me sad that you keep missing out."

Charles very carefully did not laugh.

It was strange, in a way—he'd been in love with Erik for over a year, and been Erik's best friend and everything for nearly as long. In all that time, he had never actually talked about it with anyone. Not really. Moira implied that she knew when she broke up with him the year before, but they never discussed it. Hank asked him once if he and Erik had ever dated, but never pursued the line of thought further. Erik's string of boyfriends, he knew, saw him a merely one of Erik's accoutrements, sexless and annoying, in that he took up all of Erik's time, but not a threat. Other people wondered, new additions to their friends group, like Armando's new boyfriend, Alex, and casual acquaintances, but when Charles was dating Moira, then Hank and Erik was dating the hipster of the week, they simply shook their heads and moved on.

Erik was a huge part of his life. Gargantuan, really. But he never talked about it.

Still, he wasn't about to start with his little sister. If she didn't know or suspect, the last thing he wanted was to tell her and have to deal with her pity.

"I'm young, yet," Charles said, instead of any of that. "I had a lot of fun with Hank, and with Moira and Gabrielle and Lili and...everyone I've dated. I'm not even halfway done with college. In the mean time, I have you and my friends."

"Erik," Raven said, nodding. "I guess if you're the focus of Erik's best friendship, it's hard to have time for anything else."

"Mmhm," Charles said. 

"It's funny," Raven said. "I mean, Erik's awesome, don't get me wrong, but after a week with him I was ready for a little breathing room."

"He's...intense," Charles said, which he was aware was quite an understatement.

Raven obviously agreed, as she responded with a snort. "That's one word for it, sure."

"I know he can be overwhelming," Charles admitted. "But I don't know. I guess I'm just used to him. We've just always...sort of fit."

"Aww," Raven said, grinning. "That's sweet. I would say he's Stockholmed you, but I know how aggravating you can be, too. Is mutual Stockholming a thing?"

Charles threw a pillow at her, but his aim was off and it fell a few feet short. Raven didn't even bother to dodge.

Christmas itself was fairly awful. Mother started drinking at breakfast, celebratory mimosas that drifted into vodka tonics around the time they left the table to gather around the tree. Kurt was snappish and short-tempered. He kept aiming barbs at her every few minutes, all of which Mother ignored. Occasionally he would take a break to criticize Raven or Cain instead, though he didn't talk to Charles at all. Cain hulked silently in the corner of the room, glaring at everyone. Raven just looked as bored and uncomfortable and miserable as Charles felt.

All the presents were expensive and impersonal. They might as well have been a celebrity gift bag from some award show or event. 

Charles and Raven had already given each other their real gifts the night before. They had a twenty dollar limit and an agreement that the presents had to be completely useless. Charles had been holding on to a giant ugly stone ashtray since September, when he'd accompanied Erik to Goodwill and spent an hour browsing while Erik tried on outfit after outfit. Raven one-upped him, though, with an album of novelty pop songs translated into Latin.

Maybe the worst part was he couldn't even text Erik to make the time go faster. He and Raven had both left their phones in their rooms. It wasn't worth it to have them out in front of Kurt, in case he went a rant about young people's manners and how everyone under thirty was horrible and how technology was the end of the world and nobody could carry on a conversation anymore. Even worse, he might have taken their phones away for some arbitrary length of time. It wasn't like he had respect for their property.

Charles and Raven both fled the room the moment they were dismissed. Raven transformed out of her blonde form and her girly party dress as soon as they were out of sight of their parents.

"Finally!" she moaned. "I'm going to go text Angel and hide in my room for the rest of the day."

"Good plan," Charles agreed. Though in his case, of course, it was Erik.

Erik was sympathetic to his woes, but his only solution was a repeated insistence that Charles just pack up and come spend the rest of the break with him. Eventually, he offered to distract Charles from his crummy holiday by playing chess, so Charles got out his board and they played first over text and then over the phone.

Sadly, it was one of the better Christmases Charles had in recent memory.

The day after Christmas, Cain disappeared back to wherever it was he was lurking when he wasn't at the house. The last Charles heard, he'd been kicked out of Duke. Charles and Raven played board games for most of the day, while simultaneously glued to their phones.

The day after the day after Christmas was Erik's birthday.

The year before, only a few months into their friendship, Charles wasn't quite sure how to handle Erik's birthday. He'd called Erik around noon and texted him a string of cheerful emojis, then given him a present once they were back on campus almost a month later. This year, with a perfect celebration of his own birthday and an additional year of friendship under his belt, he had made detailed plans.

His plans started in October, when Mutant Threat announced their spring tour and the closest stop to them sold out before Erik could scrape together enough money to buy tickets. Charles didn't care about Mutant Threat, who were too loud and too angry for his tastes, but they were one of Erik's favorite bands. He spent the next few weeks on eBay and StubHub and finally managed to secure a pair of tickets just after Thanksgiving. He figured Erik could take whomever he was dating at the time, and prayed that he wouldn't decide that Charles should get the honor as the gifter. 

He'd wrapped the tickets, written Erik a birthday card that was perhaps too candid and sentimental, and then shipped the whole thing to Ruth with instructions to hand them both over on Erik's birthday and not a minute sooner, and tell him to call Charles before he opened it.

With all of that in place, Charles spent the first few hours of Erik's birthday restlessly waiting for Erik's phone call. By the end of breakfast, Raven had abandoned him in frustration, and he was left alone in his room, aimlessly surfing the internet until, finally, his phone rang.

Charles picked it up on the first ring.

"Happy birthday!" he exclaimed.

"You sneaky shit!" Erik said. He sounded delighted already.

"I thought you'd like that," Charles said. "If I couldn't be there, at least you could still get your present."

"I wish you were here," Erik said. Charles could hear a sudden thump and the exhausted wheeze of the springs on Erik's bed. In his mind, he could see the exact arc of Erik's flop onto his mattress. "Next year. You _have_ to come next year. Twenty-one. I won't let you wuss out."

"I'm not wussing out, I'm—" Charles sighed. "Open the bloody gift."

Erik laughed, cackled really, and the bed creaked again as he flopped around, getting comfortable.

"Want me to read the card first?" Erik asked.

"No," Charles said. "You can, um, wait to read that later if you want."

"Did you write something like, mushy or whatever?"

"Just open your damn present," Charles said, fighting a grin.

"Fine, fine," Erik said. There was some rustling and then the sound of paper ripping. Charles waited, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Of course Erik was going to like the gift, it was something he literally would have bought for himself given the chance. There was no reason to be nervous.

He heard the top of the box slide off, then a rustle of tissue paper and then....

"Holy shit," Erik breathed. "Holy shit! How did you get these?"

"Someone was selling them online," Charles said. "And I know you really wanted to go, so I figured...well, it seemed like a sure bet for a gift." His smile was hurting his face a little. He really did wish he could be with Erik right now.

"Holy shit!" Erik said for a third time. "Charles, this is...wow. I can't believe this!"

"So you like them?" Charles asked. He knew he was fishing.

"Fucking yes, of course I like them!" Erik said. "I love them. We're gonna have so much fucking fun!"

"Well," Charles said, "Uh, I thought, maybe you'd want to take someone else? Like...uh, your boyfriends are usually...interested in music?"

"No no no," Erik said. "I've gotta take you! It's only fair, right?"

"Right," Charles said, and tried to hide his sigh.

Raven went out to a party for New Year's, with some of her friends from school, which meant Charles was on his own. He played games on his phone and half-watched celebrations on TV and stole some beer from the pantry to drink in his room. It was halfway to a pity party, especially once midnight officially struck, and he watched the ball fall down on Times Square, all alone.

Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed with a text from Erik. 

Charles grinned down at his phone. He started to type, but another text came in before he could finish more than a word.

_happy new year man. this last year's been the best one ever and i know the next one is going to be even better and its because of you._

Erik had definitely read his birthday card.

So on the whole, New Year's Eve turned out okay, anyway.

Raven was back to school the next week. Charles decided to spend his free time rereading every single one of his Discworld books. Erik, it turned out, had never read them, which was horrifying enough that Charles vowed to bring his entire collection back to school with him, just so he could force them on him. They'd been absolutely formative in Charles' adolescence. "If you hate them, we might not be able to be friends anymore," Charles warned, but Erik laughed it off like he thought Charles was joking.

On Saturday, Raven took Charles to Starbucks to meet Angel.

Angel was just as pretty as Raven said. She was bitingly sarcastic and funny, and her wing mutation was amazing, different than any others Charles had ever read about. Raven beamed the whole time they were there—she was obviously really into Angel, and she seemed really happy.

If Charles got the impression that Raven was definitely a lot more into Angel than Angel was into Raven...well, it wasn't really his business, right? He and Raven hadn't really fought since he got home, apart from a few tiny spats, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to be a good brother to her, and what that seemed to mean to Raven was support, so he kept any misgivings to himself. When Raven asked, he told her Angel seemed great, and Raven beamed the whole way home.

She was still in good spirits with him when he finally left for school again. 

"Have fun," Raven said. She was just outside the car door, leaning in the open window. "Don't forget to email me once in a while! I want to know more than just what you post on Facebook. And give Erik a hug for me, okay?"

"Fine, fine," Charles said, fake grumbling.

Raven took a step back so he could roll up the window. She blew him a kiss and, as the driver started the car and they started to move across the driveway, she waved him away with a smile.


	18. now

Erik has smoked up with Charles plenty of times since they became friends. Not, like, an excessive amount, and not as often as they've drank together, but definitely on a somewhat regular basis. 

The thing about Charles is that he's kind of highly strung. He hides it really well, so most people don't notice it, but Erik knows him better than anyone and can see that he totally is. Charles takes things seriously—which Erik loves and respects about him, Erik wouldn't like him nearly as much if he didn't, but also means that Charles can get really tense and stressed out. The telepathy thing is probably part of it, too, or at least Erik thinks it must be. Charles is so fully immersed in his brain all the time. It's a real challenge to actually get him out of his own head for a little bit.

In the last couple weeks, Erik has discovered that sex can do that for Charles, which is _awesome_. But pot works sometimes, too.

He's noticed Charles looking a little worn around the edges this week, so after dinner on Saturday, Erik brings his weed and a pipe down to Charles' room. 

"Smoke first, or backrub first?" Erik says, once he's arranged himself comfortably on Charles' bed. 

Charles gives him a considering look. "Mmm, I don't know. You choose."

Erik eyes Charles for a moment. When Charles is high, he gets loose and mellow and soft. He's said in the past that drinking calms him down because it helps him tune out the rest of the world without having to stay inside his own head. Pot, he said, makes all of the other minds blur together, so he doesn't have to worry about tuning them out.

It would make most sense, Erik thinks, to smoke first, and once Charles is mellow, rub away the rest of the tension. He reaches for his pipe and weed and carefully packs the bowl. When he holds his hand out, his lighter flies up from Charles' desk and lands safely in his palm.

"Do you want the greens?" he asks Charles.

"Thanks," Charles says. He takes the lighter and the pipe and carefully ignites only the corner, because even though it's just the two of them, Charles is still the most considerate person Erik knows. He takes the hit, then smiles as he hands the pipe to Erik.

They pass back and forth for a few more hits, not saying much. Charles begins to relax, little by little, and soon he's...well, he's sort of wrapped around Erik like an octopus.

This is...new.

Erik doesn't say anything at first. He's not, like, unhappy with this turn of events. Charles soft and happy and boneless in his arms is always a good thing. It's just unexpected; he's seen Charles high dozens of times before, and while he definitely chills out and mellows, he's never been...clingy.

They smoke most of the bowl together and Charles becomes more affectionate the higher he gets. The problem, Erik finds, with studying this behavior and mulling on what it means is that Erik is also getting higher, and consequently, studying Charles' behavior seems a lot less desireable than letting Charles curl around him, slide his hands under Erik's clothes, and kiss Erik's neck.

"I love you," Charles murmurs. He's rubbing his hand across Erik's stomach. It feels...really fucking good. "I love...touching you."

"Me too," Erik agrees. He sends the pipe and the lighter back to Charles' desk—they're high enough, and Erik has better things to worry about than making sure he doesn't accidentally set the bed on fire. Like making sure his body is fully accessible to Charles' roving hands. He likes this new Charles; mellow, high Charles was fun, but this Charles is even better. 

Probably at least some of that has to do with the fact that Erik definitely becomes touch-starved and horny when he's high. Charles' hands on him are amazing, and they go from amazing to perfect when Charles slips one of them down the back of Erik's pants to cup his ass. 

Erik very suddenly remembers Charles' promise to fuck him one day. 

"Keep going," he mumbles, rubbing his face against Charles' shoulder.

"Yeah?" Charles murmurs. He squeezes, none too gently, and it's all Erik can do not to purr like a cat. 

"Yeah," he says, more of a breath than a word.

Charles kisses the side of his face. "Take your clothes off?"

Erik forces himself to slip out of Charles' arms. It's a little difficult, since Charles' body seems to be at war with Charles' words, reluctant to let him go. Erik pulls his shirt over his head, and then he shoves his jeans down his thighs, watching Charles watch him. God, he loves the way Charles looks at him when he's getting naked. Charles' eyes get so wide and heated and he licks his lips like he can't wait and sometimes he shares it, too, the way he feels. Erik's never in his life felt sexier than he does when Charles looks at him like that.

Erik has to stop looking at Charles long enough to push his pants down over his feet, though, and kick them away. He starts to take a step back toward the bed, but Charles stops him with a hand in the air.

"Not yet," Charles says. Erik waits, but Charles doesn't say anything for a couple seconds, just chews on his bottom lip as he stares at Erik's face.

It occurs to Erik, very slowly, that a little bit of Charles' mellowness seems to have faded. He seems almost...nervous. Which doesn't make any sense. 

"Hey," Erik says with some confusion. "What is it? Is something wrong?" Oh, man, he promised Charles a backrub, and then he totally forgot about it. Is Charles upset about that? "Do you want me to rub your back now?" Erik offers, concerned.

Charles breaks into a (beautiful, perfect) smile. "No. No, I just—go get the bin from the back of my closet, okay? The one way in the back."

"Okay," Erik says. 

The bin's shoved behind everything else, covered with a couple of folded sweaters. It's a blue plastic container about the size of a box of paper. Erik drags it out and sets it next to the bed. Charles has lost his own shirt and pants while Erik's back was turned, so he's sitting on the bed in just his briefs. 

Erik maybe gets a little distracted staring at him and forgets what he's doing until Charles says his name.

"Hmm?" Erik says, his gaze snapping back up to Charles' eyes. He tries to look attentive.

Charles is still smiling at him. "Get a condom and the lube and come back here, okay?"

"Yes," Erik agrees. "Yes, I will definitely do that."

He grabs the stuff from the drawer in Charles' desk and then climbs back onto the bed, dropping them beside the pillow before wrapping himself around Charles once more. They kiss, long slow messy kisses that last for a while, Erik's not sure exactly how long. At some point, Charles' hands start exploring again, starting with Erik's back and sides and moving back down to his ass. He cups Erik's cheeks in his palms, holding him in a way that feels both measuring and possessive. Like he owns Erik, and he wants to know exactly what he has. Erik's not sure if he should be as into that feeling as he is, but it doesn't really matter.

Charles rubs his thumb down Erik's crease, not doing anything, just teasing. He grips Erik tightly and pulls him bodily upwards, moving his legs further apart—Charles is _strong_ , all those arm muscles aren't just decorative. Just when Erik thinks he's going to start playing with his hole, Charles moves his hand farther back, pressing two fingers up firmly to rub against Erik's perineum.

Erik moans.

"Good?" Charles says. He doesn't sound as smug as he usually does, somehow. 

"Mmm, yeah," Erik says with a sigh. His eyes are closed now, like it makes it easier to appreciate how it feels. He wonders why they waited so long for this. He can't wait for Charles to fuck him—god, it's going to be so good—

Charles' hand stops, suddenly, and Erik's eyes fly open. Charles is gazing down at him, looking...upset. Shit.

"What?"

"I can't—I mean, I don't—" Charles breaks off with a sigh. He brushes the hair off his forehead impatiently. "Before we can do that, I need to do some other stuff. I mean, I...need to get my prescription refilled. It, um, it works a lot better that way."

"Oh," Erik says. He feels like an idiot suddenly. An idiot, and kind of a jerk. He can remember now, what else Charles had said when he promised to fuck him—that it was _complicated_. Of course he's been too high and too gone on Charles' hands to pay attention, to think about what he was saying. To stop himself from making Charles feel bad. 

"No, don't," Charles says. He leans forward to press a quick kiss to Erik's mouth. "I mean, I can still fuck you. It'll just be different."

Erik doesn't immediately understand, which is just as well, because seeing Erik confused seems to cheer Charles up a little. He kisses Erik one more time before rolling over to his side. "Go open the bin," he tells Erik, a bit of mischief in his eye.

Upon opening up the bin, a few things become clear to Erik all at once. The first, of course, is how Charles intends on fucking him. The second is what was up with the flurry of secret packages Charles was receiving in the mail last fall. And the third—well.

"You have so been holding out on me," Erik accuses, glancing back from the tub of sex toys to his smirking boyfriend.

"Pick out whichever one you want," Charles says. 

Erik's never had anything inside him that wasn't fingers or a cock, so he figures simple and boring is the way to go. They can work their way up to some of the other stuff later. Most of the other stuff, probably.

Charles isn't wrong about it being different than the way Erik's been fucked in the past, but different doesn't mean worse, by any means. Erik doesn't know whether it's being a geometry or biology whiz or maybe just his psychic powers, but Charles is exceptionally good at finding Erik's prostate. He doesn't really even touch Erik's cock, though he plays with Erik's balls a little and nips at Erik's hips with his sharp teeth. When Erik comes, it's like this slow pulsing throughout his whole entire body. He wants to giggle. He wants to yell. He wants to fall asleep.

But mostly he wants to touch Charles some more, and that's the impulse that wins out. He tugs on Charles' shoulders until Charles is lying next to him again. Erik wraps his arms around Charles and kisses him, runs his hands up and down Charles' back and shoulders. Charles is so strong. He's always known that, academically, but it's only been these past few weeks that he's really _noticed_ and appreciated it. 

"What do you want me to do?" Erik asks, dragging his nose along the line of Charles' jaw.

"Whatever you want," Charles says. He says it hot and satisfied. He says it like it's a gift. Erik can't help but shiver. But...

"You always say that," Erik says. "You've said it like, ten times in the past couple weeks. I want to do what _you_ want."

Charles blinks. Charles has pretty eyelashes and his eyes are gorgeous and maybe Erik is still a little high.

"There are nipple clamps in the box," Charles says. "In the little divider in the right corner. Bring them over here and I'll show you something new."

Erik debates, for a moment, pulling away from Charles versus trying to reach the box over the edge of the bed. In the end, he keeps one arm around Charles and roots around in the bin with the other.

"I don't even know what some of this stuff is," he says, still in awe. The nipple clamps, though, he identifies and manages to pull out of the box. He rolls back over to face Charles, clutching them in one hand. "You're going to show me all of them, right?"

Charles smiles. He looks almost...relieved. 

"Of course I am," he says. He takes the nipple clamps from Erik. "Let's start with these."

Charles, it turns out, is a very, _very_ good teacher.

Erik thinks a lot about the sex toys over the next few days, a mixture of idle speculation and anticipation and, okay, maybe a tiny bit of jealousy that Hank was the one who spurred Charles into getting all this stuff in the first place. He's mostly over the Hank thing, most of the time. Hank doesn't give him quite as many skeptical or long-suffering looks, at least, which Erik thinks is progress.

Still, while he thinks about the toys and about Charles and about the way the muscles in Charles' arm looked while he thrust the dildo back and forth in Erik's ass, he doesn't think quite as frequently about how unnerved and nervous Charles seemed when he was explaining the whole thing. He doesn't think about the way Charles tensed up and flushed when the subject first came up.

At least, he doesn't think about it until Charles comes down to breakfast on Tuesday looking just as tense, his complexion somehow flushed and pale simultaneously.

"Are you okay?" Erik asks Charles when he joins Emma and Erik at their table.

"I'm fine," Charles says. He reflexively glances at Emma, which makes Emma frown and then snort. "Yes, _thank you, Emma_ ," he hisses. His cheeks are full on pink now. "Private is private for a reason!"

"You should shield better if you're so concerned about me finding out your sex plans," she says, taking a dainty bite of her english muffin. Charles hunches his shoulder and pokes at his own breakfast.

_Sex plans?_ Erik asks, carefully projecting to Charles alone.

_Not exactly,_ Charles tells him. _Or...maybe yes, exactly. I have an appointment with my doctor today. I need him to sign off on it to, um, get my prescription refilled._

_Oh,_ Erik thinks. Then, suddenly, it clicks. "Oh!" he says out loud. He grins toothily, but Charles' returning smile isn't much of a smile at all. He looks...not scared. Not upset. Just...sort of flushed and resigned. Erik opens his mouth to ask him what's wrong, then remembers Emma, still eating her breakfast and reading something on her tablet.

"Emma, go away," he says. Emma snorts again, without looking up.

"I'm not one of your boy toys, Erik," she says. "I don't take orders from you."

"But," Erik tries to say. He trails off, searching for a more delicate way to say, 'But I want to talk about sex stuff,' and Emma jumps right back in at the pause.

"If you're so keen to be alone to discuss your private lives, either move yourselves or maybe consider that the dining hall isn't the best place for it," she says.

He hates admitting when Emma has a point. It's so annoying.

"It's fine, Erik," Charles says, but he still looks miserable.

"It's not," Erik says. "We can talk after." Technically he has "Mutant Policy and Economy" after breakfast, but he's setting the curve in that class and he doesn't think the professor will mind if he slips in a few minutes late. 

He finishes his breakfast quickly, but Emma lingers long past the time she's done, probably out of spite, and Charles isn't exactly racing to finish. When he finally does get done, he's slow to follow Erik out of the dining hall, too. Erik leads them to the tiny corner alcove between the student center and the shortcut to the performing arts building, where there are benches and an outdoor chess table that he's never seen anyone use but them. He sits on one of the benches and looks at Charles expectantly. Charles is still flushed and says nothing.

"Um, if you don't...want to do it," Erik tries once it becomes clear that Charles isn't going to start this discussion. "Like...I want you to, obviously, but I thought you wanted it too? And if you don't—"

"I do!" Charles finally says, looking up at Erik for the first time. "Fuck, Erik, of course I do. I've wanted it for ages. It's just..." He sighs. "It's sort of...humiliating. To have to go to the doctor and explain to him, you know. The details of my sex life. And that's just my life, you know? For the rest of forever, if I want to be sure I can sustain an erection, I have to periodically go to the doctor and tell him all the sterile, clinical details of...of...these things I do with people I care about. Private things. Like, it's bad enough that if I want to fuck you, we need to plan seriously ahead and that even then it might not work or I might not come. But before any of that can even start, I have to...bring this other person into it."

Erik's first instinct is to reassure Charles that he doesn't mind, he doesn't care, but...it's not about him, is it? That would be a dumb thing to say. 

He can't think of anything else, though, once he rejects that. He doesn't know how to make Charles feel better. He has no fucking clue what to do or what to say.

He has to say _something_ , though. 

Erik clears his throat. Charles has been staring back down at his clenched hands on his lap, but he looks up again now.

"I'm sorry," Erik says. "That really bites." It's completely inadequate, but it's all he has. Maybe the fact that Charles can hear all the things Erik doesn't know how to say will make it better. He hopes so. "But I'm...you know, I'm really glad you told me. I want—I want to know about this stuff. When stuff is hard for you. I want to try and make it better."

"It's just how my life is," Charles says. "You can't really make it better."

"I know, but..." Erik struggles. "I can't fix anything, I know that, but I guess...I want to support you?" 

Erik's told Charles the hardest, worst things about himself. It didn't change those things, but it was still better to share them. To know Charles understood and didn't judge and loved him anyway.

Charles still looks unhappy, but there's a very faint smile on his face, which wasn't there before.

"And you thought you were a bad boyfriend," he says softly.

He reaches out his hand, and Erik takes it.

"Do you, um, want me to go to the doctor's office with you? I could skip 'Allegory and Mutant Lit' this afternoon."

Charles shakes his head. "No, it's fine. Go to class. I'll talk to you tonight."

Erik gives him a goodbye kiss. It lasts a little longer than he intends, and he ends up slipping into his policy class fifteen minutes late, but the professor lets it slide.

Tuesdays are one of the unbearable days where Charles and Erik have no overlapping classes and no overlapping free time until dinner. Erik sits through his classes and sits through his lunch and sits through some weird Minecraft competition in the lounge, and _finally_ Charles buzzes by his mind to let him know he's back from the doctor and has finished his last class, and Erik jumps up from his chair in the lounge and makes his way over to Charles' room. He lets himself in and sits on the edge of Charles' bed, tapping his toes.

When Charles arrives, he looks pale and tired, but less tense than he's been recently.

"Hi," Erik says. 

"Hi," Charles says. He smiles and pulls his hoodie off—Erik's hoodie, actually, Charles stole it sometime last year—and puts it on the top of his desk, along with his bag. "Come here."

Erik takes that as an invitation to cross the room and deposit himself on Charles' lap. 

"How did it go?" he asks.

"It was...fine," Charles says. "It was good. He wasn't...that bad. He was nice, actually. When I told him it seemed like this was going to be a...um, pretty long term thing, he gave me three refills and told me I don't have to come back until they're gone." Charles chews his lip for a moment. "I know we haven't talked about it, really, but I mean...it's long term to me. It's...right now it feels like this is it for me?" He laughs a little. He's blushing. "God, I'm sorry, that's heavy—"

Erik, who froze at the implication, the realization, the overwhelming knowledge put into words like that— _this is it for me_ —says the first thing that pops into his head.

"My mom says we need to wait until after we're done with school to get married."

Charles is quiet, his eyes wide. Erik feels the slow climbing terror of mortification.

"Um," he says, but Charles starts to laugh, clear and delighted, tugging Erik closer by this t-shirt until he's nuzzling Erik's neck, still laughing.

"I love your mom," Charles tells him. "And I suppose...well, as long as we're on the same page, it's a good segue." He leans back again, just enough to look Erik in the face. "My doctor—like I said, he was really nice and sympathetic and he suggested that I—well, he's going to run all the usual STD tests? So I was thinking, if you wanted to do that too, then, um...sometimes we could probably...not have to worry about condoms?"

"Oh. Wow," Erik says. "Yeah. Yeah, that is definitely something we should do. Yeah. I'll go down to the health center first thing tomorrow." He'd go tonight, but they're closed for the day. Tomorrow after breakfast will have to do.

Erik's never had sex without a condom before—well, handjobs, sure, but never blowjobs or anal or anything. Obviously. He's never had a real relationship before, with someone he trusted. But this is serious—this is _it_ , like Charles said—and now that Charles has brought it up, Erik's mind is overflowing with images and thoughts about what it's going to be like, with nothing between them.

Erik shifts on Charles' lap, leaning in close to nuzzle behind Charles' ear.

"You're getting turned on talking about STD screenings," Charles says. He sounds amused, and more like himself than he has all day.

"Getting turned on thinking about sex with you," Erik corrects him. He takes one of Charles' hands and drags it down to palm at his cock through his jeans.

Charles laughs, but it's a little uneven, probably because Erik is nipping at his earlobes now. "Yeah, okay, fair point," he says. He fumbles a little trying to undo Erik's fly with one hand, the other on the small of Erik's back, holding him steady. After a few seconds, Erik remembers he could be using his powers to help here, and Charles gets his hand in and under Erik's boxers.

"Do you want to move to the bed?" Charles asks.

"No," says Erik. He really just wants Charles' hand on him now, skin on skin, and like this he's not only surrounded by Charles' warmth and scent, he also has perfect access to his neck. "I mean, unless you're uncomfortable..."

"I'm okay," Charles assures him. He releases Erik to fumble behind himself at a desk drawer. Erik isn't particularly helpful, still nibbling behind his ear, but Charles manages anyway, grabbing the lube and pumping some onto his palm before he drops the bottle and sticks his hand back down Erik's pants.

"It's really dumb," Charles says, as his slick, tight hand begins to stroke, "but I really—I really like how big your cock is. It's just—fuck."

Erik can feel his entire body heat up, pride and arousal. He applies himself to sucking a new hickey on Charles' throat to keep himself from talking, because the first thing he thinks is to wonder if it's bigger than Hank's.

Erik is getting _so good_ at this not saying stupid shit thing. 

Also, he's not sure he wants to know the answer. He's seen Hank's feet.

Charles' phone starts ringing a couple minutes in, but they both ignore it. It's not until afterwards, when Charles is changing his shirt (they'd kind of made a mess of both that and Erik's jeans), that Charles checks his phone.

"The missed calls were from Raven," he tells Erik, who's moved over to the bed to lounge and go through the Netflix queue. "I should call her back."

"Sure," Erik says, clicking idly through Netflix. "There's nothing good on Netflix."

"There are thousands of things on Netflix, that's patently untrue," Charles says absently. Then, "Hello! Is everything okay?"

Erik was planning on tuning Charles out for his call with Raven, but the look on his face recaptures Erik's attention. His face is doing something complicated—Erik can't tell if he's excited or upset.

"Oh, darling, congratulations!" he says. His voice doesn't betray any of the confusion on his face. "I'm so excited for you! And it's your first choice?"

Oh, college. Raven should be hearing about colleges now. He knows Ruthie just found out she was waitlisted at her second choice and got into her third. Every day she's been posting on Facebook about the countdown to hearing back from Syracuse, her number one. It's super annoying.

"I'm so happy for you! We're going to have a great time next year!" Charles says. His face is still telling a different story. Charles and Raven are kind of a complicated mess. Erik had a lot of fun with Raven when she came to visit, and she has a lot of great ideas about mutant social policy, but he can imagine how weird it would be for him if Ruthie suddenly decided to come to school here. He remembers, too, how weird Charles had gotten when Raven was around and his stupid fear that Erik would like, throw him over for Raven.

Raven was great, but she isn't Charles.

"Yep," Charles continues, "I'd be happy to do whatever you need. When I get home for the summer, we can sit down and talk about the dorms and the gen ed professors and I'm sure Erik would love a chance to tell you about his program....of course." Then Charles expression becomes downright skeptical. "Oh, did she? Well, that's...great! If she gets in too, I mean....mmhm. Tell her I said hi, and we'll talk more soon, okay? I'm so proud of you, Raven, and it's going to be wonderful to have you here next year....I love you too....Mmhm. Bye, then."

Charles hangs up and looks down at his phone for a minute, then up at Erik with a resigned smile.

"Raven got in. She'll be coming here in the fall," he says.

Erik gestures for Charles to join him on the bed, and he does, pulling himself up and wiggling to sit next to Erik, back against the wall, shoulders pressed together.

"Good for her," Erik says. "She's gonna be fucking awesome. And, before you get weird about it again, I love you and you're my favorite and as cool as she is, she's nothing like you."

Charles laughs and drops his head onto Erik's shoulder.

"Thanks, darling," he says. "That's always nice to hear. I'm just...concerned, I guess. I'm torn between being afraid of introducing her into this world and having her judge me and introducing her to this world and having her be better at it and more popular than me."

"I'm sure you're gonna be fine," Erik says. "You're you and she's her and you're like...totally different. There's no way anyone's gonna try and like, replace you."

"You're very sweet," Charles says. Erik feels his nose scrunch up in recoil. He's not sweet. 

"What was that other thing about someone else getting in?" Erik asks, steering the subject far away from his supposed sweetness.

"Oooh," Charles says. He rolls his head around a little so he can look up at Erik. "Do you remember me telling you about Raven's girlfriend?"

"Vaguely," Erik says. 

"Well, when I was introduced, I got the feeling that...Angel is not particularly expecting this relationship to, ah, last," Charles says. "I'm afraid if they both get in here, Raven's going to have her heart broken."

"Oh." Erik thinks about it for a few seconds. "That does suck, don't get me wrong, but...won't they probably break up if they get into different schools, too? Like, if Angel's planning on dumping her, I'm sure she's going to dump her either way, so."

"The depths of your empathy are astounding," Charles says dryly.

"Whatever," Erik says, shrugging it off. "She's Raven's first girlfriend, right? And then they're in high school. Raven must kind of know already it's not going to last. And either way, at least since Raven's coming here with us, she'll already have friends and a support network and stuff. And there are tons of cute mutants here that like girls. Raven's hot, she can have her pick."

Charles looks a little skeptical, but he's not quite as serious anymore. He lowers his head back onto Erik's shoulder, snuggling in even closer. "Here, you've had enough time to go through the queue," he says. "I'm going to pick something."

"As long as it's not some shitty cheesy horror movie," Erik says. He puts his arm around Charles' shoulders as Charles clicks through and quickly settles on an episode of _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ they've probably watched together at least a half dozen times. 

"And you know what else," Erik adds thoughtfully over the opening dialogue. "Angel breaking up with her will probably be good for Raven. Getting dumped builds character."

"And you would know, from your vast experience with it," Charles says.

Erik grins at him. "Where would I be if Janos hadn't broken up with me? My life wouldn't be nearly as good as it is now. I owe him a fuck of a lot."

Charles just shakes his head, unwilling to let himself laugh, but Erik is pleased anyway. He presses a kiss to Charles' fluffy hair and then settles himself in properly to watch the show.


	19. then

The biggest difference in starting the new semester was that it was the first time Charles and Erik didn't have a class together. They had mostly fulfilled their gen ed requirements—the only one they both had left was something for "cultural diversity" and it was impossible to find anything that fit both their schedules. 

On the one hand, it kind of sucked not sharing a class with Erik, but on the other hand, Charles' schedule was actually pretty awesome. He'd burned his way through most of the low-level major prereqs in his first three semesters, which meant this term, aside from his foreign language requirement, he was mostly taking really interesting stuff, way more specialized and relevant to his areas of interest than before.

Erik, too, seemed pretty excited about his courseload, though most of the time when he talked about them it just sounded like jargon or gobbledygook to Charles. 

They managed to find plenty of time to spend together despite their differing schedules, though. It was kind of a relief, after a full month apart, to get right back into a groove where the idea of not seeing Erik for twenty-four hours seemed totally unthinkable. 

"Maybe I'll do my psych project on codependency," Armando said at lunch one day, a few weeks into the term. He shot Charles a sly grin. "You think I could interview you guys for it?"

"Mm, I think you'd want to save us for writing a dissertation," Charles said. "Right, Erik?"

Erik, who had been in the middle of an argument with Emma (heated on his side, distantly amused on her side) on the merits of some comic book, spun his head toward Charles. "Right what? What did I miss?"

"Nothing, my dear," Charles said, patting his arm.

Erik shrugged. "Okay," he said, and he turned right back to Emma to start lecturing her again, even though in the few seconds he'd been gone, she'd abandoned the conversation to play on her phone. 

With a courseload full of classes that he was excited about and the happy thrill of returning to Erik's orbit, Charles made a few promises to himself for the new semester: he was going to put his romantic life on hold and he was going to spend at least one night a week on his own, without Erik. He needed to start focusing more on his studies and, truthfully, if he hoped to have a functional romantic relationship, he needed to inch back from Erik. Not entirely, not even a full step back. He just needed to remember that it was okay to take a few hours' breathing room for himself now and again.

So of course, not three full weeks into the semester, Charles woke up with a sore throat.

It was just a sore throat. He repeated that to himself over and over again as he showered and dressed, as he bundled up against the harsh February winds, as he wheeled himself into the dining hall.

Just a sore throat.

He drank two cups of tea with breakfast and skipped the delicious Tuesday morning waffle bar in favor of cream of wheat, which was disgusting, but hot and gentle on his throat.

"Are you okay?" Erik asked, eyeing Charles over a stack of waffles.

Charles cleared his throat.

"Fine," he lied. "Do you want to come over after dinner and watch something?" On Tuesdays, he and Erik had two classes each in alternating time slots—they never saw each other until dinner, and by dinner, Charles was sure he'd be fine.

"Sure," Erik said. "As long as it's something good and not one of your stupid shows."

"You wound me," Charles said. "I'll let you pick, even."

"Ugh, I _hate_ being movie picker," Erik moaned, and Charles rolled his eyes.

Just a regular Tuesday. Nothing was wrong.

He drank another three cups of tea over the course of the day, one in each of his classes and one at lunch. When he hauled his bag and books back to his room after class, it was hard to convince himself to leave for dinner. In addition to his sore throat, he had picked up a headache that wouldn't quit and a building pressure behind his sinuses. He felt terrible and allowed himself to give into the inevitable, opening up the first aid kit in his desk drawer and popping out some ibuprofen and pseudoephedrine. 

Maybe his immune system just needed a little boost from the drugs. He'd probably be fine in the morning.

He navigated through his growing mental fog to the dining hall and made himself fill his tray with protein and vegetables. Vitamins and...things. Things to battle sickness. Nutrients.

He wasn't allowed to get sick. Not when he had so much to learn in his classes.

"You're not looking too hot, Charles," Armando said once Charles made his way to their table. It was slow going, slower than usual, even, and by the time he was sitting in front of his dinner, he felt too tired to eat it. 

"Thank you, I'm flattered," he said to Armando.

"I'm serious man," Armando said. "Are you getting something?"

Erik glanced up from his phone for the first time and narrowed his eyes at Charles.

"You _do_ look shitty," he said. 

"You're all so complimentary tonight," Charles muttered and started in on his dinner. He couldn't tell if it all tasted like cardboard because the dining hall was that terrible, or because his sinuses were that stuffed.

"Maybe I should just let you sleep," Erik said as they walked back to his room. The evening was dark and cloudy and some fat, stubborn snow flakes were beginning to fall from the sky. Charles shivered and glared at them as he pushed himself back to the dorms. He was fucking exhausted.

"No," he said. "You can stay for a little while. I'm fine."

Erik responded with a truly epic side-eye, but he followed Charles anyway and laid in bed with him. They managed one episode of _Community_ before Charles passed out.

In the morning, he felt even worse. He still had classes, though, and he refused to miss them. He took a long shower and dressed, then met his friends for breakfast and endured more concerned meddling, this time mostly from Moira. Erik just stared at him skeptically and followed him all the way to the door of his first class.

"I'm fine," he muttered, but even he didn't believe himself any longer.

He barely managed to make it through his second class. By the end of it, his arms felt sore and tired and heavy and his head was throbbing so badly it blocked out the background chatter of other minds. The idea of pushing himself all the way back to his room seemed impossibly daunting, and he honestly considered just passing out at his desk before forcing himself to return to the dorms.

The snow, which stuck around overnight, had picked up while he was in class. It was falling quickly, accumulating on paths and making his trip back to the dorms even more treacherous. Sore, exhausted, freezing, fuzzy, and in pain, he was reaching the end of his rope when Erik showed up.

"Holy shit, what the fuck are you doing out here?" Erik asked him. "You look like shit!"

"Erik," Charles managed to croak. "I would very much appreciate it if you would push me back to the dorms."

Erik stared at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging comically open. Although Charles regularly employed Erik's powers to move him up and down inconvenient stairs and occasionally to levitate him high enough to reach tall shelves, even at his drunkest, he wouldn't let Erik push him. He was too fucking tired to care about dignity any longer.

Erik shook himself and splayed his hand out. Charles' chair began to move at the same pace he normally took when he was moving under his own speed. In fact, to a casual observer, he imagined it would look no different than any other Wednesday—Erik and Charles coming back from class together.

Sometimes, it was very clear to Charles why he loved Erik so fucking much.

Back in Charles' room, Erik didn't stop at pushing the chair. As soon as the door was closed, he started to strip Charles out of his coat and winter weather gear, then out of his shoes and socks and belt.

"You look like shit," he muttered again. "You sound like shit. You're probably dying of some tropical disease—"

"It's a winter cold, Erik," Charles insisted.

Erik ignored him.

"You should be in bed. I can't fucking believe you're not in bed," he muttered.

"I'm going to bed now," Charles said. He was most of the way asleep already, actually. He just had to keep it together a little longer. He just had to manage the transfer from his chair to his bed, which was nothing. Absolutely nothing. He'd done it a million times. He just had to push himself this last bit, and then he could collapse.

He couldn't quite keep in the moan as he laid down, half-burying his face in the pillow.

Erik was still hovering next to the bed, looking pissed off and a little scared. "Shit, Charles. What were you thinking. Shit, shit, shit. You need to take care of yourself!"

"I can't argue with you right now," Charles said, closing his eyes.

Erik sighed. "Fine. Fine. What else do you need?"

"Nothing," Charles said. Talking was getting to be even more of struggle. Forming the words seemed to make his head pulse and throb. "Just go away and let me sleep."

Erik didn't say anything, but Charles was vaguely aware of the sound of Erik walking around, opening and closing drawers.

"I'm putting some of your medicine on the floor next to your bed," Erik said softly. "I'm going to go get a glass of water for you. I'll be right back."

Charles heard the door open and shut, but he was asleep before he heard Erik return.

He didn't know exactly what time it was when he woke up, but it was dark outside his windows, only a lamp lighting his room. His throat didn't hurt quite as badly, but his head was just as bad, and the aches in all his limbs worse. His mouth was dry and tasted terrible. He rolled over and groped along the floor for the water Erik had left. Once he found it, he took a sip and swished the water around the inside of his mouth for a couple seconds before swallowing.

"How are you feeling?" Erik said. Charles didn't feel up to turning his head enough to look at him straight on, but he could see Erik in his peripheral vision, sitting at his desk. 

"Terrible," Charles croaked.

"I called my mom," Erik said. He moved into Charles' line of sight, coming to kneel down next to the bed. "I ran out to Rite Aid and went shopping for everything she suggested. I have, um, throat lozenges and Nyquil and zinc and sinus stuff. And the stuff for this ginger tea she makes. Or if you want to try eating something I could get some toast or soup."

Food sounded terrible. "Nyquil?" he said half-heartedly. Even just taking medicine seemed like a lot of effort at the moment, even knowing it would make him feel better.

Erik handed him two capsules and the water glass and watched intently as Charles forced down the dose.

"Thank you," Charles muttered, or maybe he didn't quite get it out. The intention was definitely there.

For the next few days, everytime Charles rose up from the twilight funk of his sickness long enough to pay attention, Erik was there. He was even sleeping on Charles' floor when he woke up Thursday morning.

Technically, Erik wasn't actually still sleeping, but he was lying on his back on his slept-in bedroll, still wearing his pajama pants and a tank top, fiddling on his phone.

"What are you doing here?" Charles said, feeling bewildered. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Nope," Erik said firmly.

"Don't you have—" Charles racked his brain, but everything was still too fuzzy for him to be able to find the name. "The one," he said. "With the...books."

Erik lowered his phone to look over at Charles. "I'm skipping so I can stay here with you."

"You should go to class," Charles said. His voice sounded vague, even to himself. "I don't need you here. I don't want you to get sick too."

"If I'm going to get sick from you, I'd already be infected, anyway," Erik said. He sat up, setting his phone down beside him. "Do you want some ginger tea now?"

It still seemed weird, but it didn't seem worth arguing, either. "Okay," Charles said.

And that was how the next few days seemed to go. Charles would wake up, disoriented, oblivious to how much time had passed, exhausted, and Erik would be there with more medicine or a glass of water or some soup that he forced Charles to eat. If he wasn't immediately at Charles' side, he was sleeping on the floor or, one time, sleeping sitting up with his back against the side of Charles' bed, holding Charles' hand.

"I'll be fine, Erik," Charles mumbled one—day? afternoon?—when Erik was forcing more pills upon him. "You can go back to your room. You can go see what everyone else is doing."

"I don't care what everyone else is doing," Erik said. There was a strange tenor to his voice, one that Charles was almost too tired to interpret. It was almost like he was...nervous. Scared.

"I swear it's just a cold," Charles insisted. "If it was anything more serious, I'd probably at least be coughing or running a fever."

"Shut up, Charles," Erik said.

He gradually began to feel less death-like and more like himself, though Erik still wouldn't leave. On Sunday morning, even, he woke up to the feeling of fingers brushing through his hair and across his forehead, along with the sound of Erik's voice.

"I think he is? I don't know. He's been saying he felt fine like, every fu—rigging day since he first started to get sick, so I don't really trust him. But he was awake more yesterday."

Erik must have been talking to his mother if he was conscious of not cursing. His fingers kept stroking Charles' hair and forehead as he spoke.

"I did, and tea and...all those things you said. I made him eat more yesterday, too, since he was awake. He wanted a banana, is that okay?....Yeah, he did....I know, I just...it's really, um, I don't know. It's scary, I guess. I don't know." He sighed and stayed quiet for a long moment. "No, I mean, I've mostly been here—this girl we're friends with came by once and she like, forced me to take a shower because she's an assh—a jerk. But other than that....yeah, but I sleep here like, all the time, so it's not weird or anything....Okay. Yeah, I will. Thanks, Mom....bye."

Erik's fingers untangled from Charles' hair and the bed creaked as he stood up. Charles was too tired, too sick to think about this for long. Erik staying with him for however long he'd been sick. Erik calling his mother for tips on how to play nurse. Erik sleeping next to him every night and having to be pried out by, Charles' best guess, Moira to take a shower and change his clothes.

It was too much to process, so instead of processing it, he yawned and opened his eyes. 

"Oh, hey!" Erik looked startled. He appeared to be pacing around Charles' room aimlessly, unshaping and reshaping a handful of nuts and screws that were levitating over his hand. "You're awake again."

"I'm feeling much better," Charles said. "Could I get some more of that tea?"

"Of course!" Erik nearly tripped over himself in his haste. "Anything."

Erik had to dart out to use the microwave in the lounge to heat up the water. In the meantime, Charles pushed himself up to a sitting position in his bed. He _did_ feel a lot better, however little Erik might trust his word on it. The side effect of feeling less overwhelmingly terrible, though, was the awareness coming back of the things he hadn't cared about before. Like how disgusting he was—he hadn't showered in days, and he felt greasy all over. When he sniffed at himself experimentally, he could detect a sour smell.

Erik came back a few minutes later, clutching Charles' favorite mug in his hands. He thrust it out at Charles, who took it gratefully.

He wasn't sure how much of the stuff Erik had plied him with over the last few days, but this was the first time Charles really noticed what he was drinking. Besides the ginger, he could taste honey and lemon. It was warm and soothing. Comforting.

"This is nice," Charles said. "Did you say this was your mom's recipe?"

Erik nodded. He was still standing in front of the bed. Normally Charles would have have pulled Erik down to sit by him, but he was too conscious of the fact that the bed was probably almost as gross as he was, after five days of Charles living in it.

"Yeah. She's always made it for me and Ruthie when we weren't feeling well," Erik said. "I wish she was here to make for you. It's probably not as good when I do it."

"It's really good," Charles assured him. He drank down the liquid in slow, steady sips, and when he was done, he set the empty mug on his nightstand. "I think...I'd like to take a shower now."

"Awesome," Erik said, looking happy. Immediately after, though, another emotion crossed his face. Charles was kind of fascinated, watching an internal struggle play out. He wasn't inside Erik's brain as much as he usually was—it was easier to just mute everything out when he was in a state where he couldn't process much information, and didn't have the energy to maintain the proper amount of control—so it was a kind of interesting thing, watching it all from the outside.

Finally, Erik said, "You won't, like, overextend yourself, right? If you need me to help, you'll let me help?"

The emotions that flared up in Charles were complicated and largely contradictory. Asking for help—he worked so hard to be independent, and it killed him when he had to rely on other people. But Erik knew that, too, he knew that probably as well as anybody; he was asking in the full knowledge of how humiliated Charles got sometimes—and needing help in the shower was pretty far on that humiliation scale, too. He could see Erik biting his lip, waiting to see if Charles was going to get pissed at him. 

But it was a fair question, anyway. Charles still wasn't one hundred percent. He might need help. Erik wasn't wrong to worry.

"I promise," Charles said slowly. Erik immediately looked relieved. "But I'm fairly certain it won't be an issue."

And it was fine, though by the time Charles was done, he was completely wiped out. When he returned to the room, Erik was still there, sitting at Charles' desk and eating an untoasted Pop-Tart. There were new sheets on the bed. Charles transferred himself back, and between the shower and the clean linens, he felt more human than he had in days.

Charles didn't want to go back to sleep yet. What he felt now was mostly boredom and restlessness, which was a frustrating combination considering he wasn't actually recovered enough to _do_ anything. Not only physical activity, but even anything like reading or chess seemed too heavy.

That basically only left one thing, which was TV. He put on _Ghostbusters_ , perfect comfort watching: he'd seen it a million times and thus it required no mental effort. After a few minutes, Erik moved from the desk to join him on the bed, and they watched it together, only talking to quote lines at each other, or (in Erik's case) to go off on a soliloquy on Bill Murray's comic brilliance and how if only he weren't baseline he'd be practically perfect.

Charles felt even better on Monday, well enough to attend all his classes. He was still moving a little slower than usual, but he could get through an hour and a half of lab or lecture without feeling woozy, and that was an accomplishment. Still, after every class, Erik was lingering in the halls, waiting for him.

"I know you guys are like...you guys..." Moira murmured after their shared Monday afternoon class, "but between this and his angry refusal to leave your sick bed for five days, has it occurred to you that you mave have inadvertently groomed him for some hardcore stalker tendencies?"

"He's just worried," Charles said, packing up his books and then following Moira out of the room and into the hall.

"Don't you have like...classes?" Moira asked.

"I left a couple minutes early," Erik said. "My professor didn't care, it meant that someone else had a chance to talk for once."

"I appreciate it," Charles said, "but it's unnecessary, really. I'm fine. Tired, but fine."

"I know," Erik said, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to add something else, but then closed it and looked thoughtful and confused. His head was a jumble of emotions when Charles pushed past his usual low-level awareness of Erik's mind, and Charles was far too tired to pick it apart. Besides, that was Erik's job. Charles couldn't tell him what he was feeling, even if he looked desperate to figure it out.

"Dinner?" Erik suggested. "Are you up for real food?"

"I'm up for mashed potatoes and maybe protein of some sort, so let's go," Charles said.

Tuesday was more of the same, but by Wednesday, Erik seemed convinced that Charles wasn't going to suddenly drop into a coma if his back was turned. He went back, marginally, to doing things other than following Charles around, but it still took Charles until Thursday night to realize that Erik's latest boyfriend hadn't been around in ages. 

Then he looked at a calendar with a sinking feeling.

"Uh, Erik, St. John didn't break up with you because you were taking care of me, did he?" Charles asked.

"They don't dump me, I dump them," Erik said absently, pulling olives off of the edge of his pizza slice.

"I just...noticed you missed Valentine's Day?" Charles said.

Erik snorted. "I don't give a shit about Valentine's Day," he said, which was true enough, but perhaps not true for poor St. John. "He was just texting me all the time to do shit while you were sick and he wouldn't quit it. And I was like, 'St. John, fucking chill,' and he got all fucking offended like, 'oh my god, we've been dating for a week and you're fucking calling me St. John,' and I was like, 'I have more important things to deal with right now than you, so fucking get over it. We're through.'"

Charles played the conversation over in his mind and froze, then jumped into Erik's head for confirmation. For Christ's sake.

"Erik," he said carefully, "how do you spell St. John?"

Erik rolled his eyes.

"S-i-n-j-i-n," he said.

"No," Charles said slowly. "It's...really not."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Erik asked. "It's Sinjin. It's spelled 'Sinjin.' I'm not stupid."

"It's not," Charles said. "It's spelled like Saint John. S-t capital-J-o-h-n."

Erik stared at him.

"What the fuck?" he said. "What the—what kind of weird bullshit—"

"It's sort of a British thing," Charles said. He was trying very, very hard not to smile. Or laugh. Or have delighted hysterics. Oh god.

"That is the fucking stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Erik said. "Who names their fucking kid 'St. John?' And who like, expects you to know how to spell it if you haven't seen it written down?!"

"Well, I think most people expect their boyfriends to know what their name is," Charles said.

"What the fuck!" Erik said. "That is fucking crazy bullshit. I can't believe you _knew_ and didn't tell me! You British asshole!"

"I couldn't tell you didn't know just from _hearing_ it!" Charles insisted. 

"Well...fuck," Erik said, defeated. "Huh."

Charles did give in the urge to grin, then, but Erik took it stoically, shrugging it off after a few moments' self-reflection and moving on to inhale his pizza.

Erik didn't stay single for long, of course. He never did. Charles spent Saturday night having a Settlers of Catan tournament with Ororo and Moira, while Erik went out to one of his shows. On Sunday morning, there was a new guy attached to Erik's side when he showed up for brunch.

Janos was an improvement over most of Erik's other boyfriends, really. For one thing, he wasn't a total dick to Charles for no reason. He was pretty quiet, but he seemed a lot smarter than the others, and even though he was clearly into Erik, not nearly as blindly worshipful. Once Charles actually heard him correct Erik mid-rant on a factual error. It was great.

He was the best of the lot so far, and if Erik had to have his meaningless relationships hanging around forever, Charles wouldn't mind if he stuck with Janos for a while. Still, there was no point in getting attached—all of Erik's relationships had a swift expiration date, after all. With Erik's focus already starting to shift to a family visit to see his aunt and uncle, Charles would be surprised if they made it through the next week's Spring Break.


	20. now

One of the many things that Erik finds amazing since he and Charles started dating is that there's all this stuff they've been doing together for ages that's now, like, new and different and exciting, but also familiar and the same in a lot of ways. It's a total contradiction and it kind of thrills Erik every time he comes across another example. 

Tonight is one of those times. It's the first house party they're been to since they became a couple. Erik has always spent most of his time at parties with Charles, but now he's completely plastered to Charles' side, only getting up to refill their drinks or fetch food every once in a while. 

"You can go dance, if you want to," Charles says, when one of Erik's favorite songs comes on. "I mean, not you like usually dance," he amends quickly. "You can't do that stuff with anyone but me."

"I wouldn't ever want to," Erik assures him.

Charles flashes him a smile and continues, "But, like, Moira's a great dancer, too. I bet you guys would have fun. And I—you know. I like watching you move."

Maybe Erik will take him up on it some other time. "Right now I'd rather stay here with you," he tells Charles, following it up with a squeeze of Charles' hand.

"That's good, too," Charles says.

They do enter the beer pong tournament. They usually dominate as a team, but Ororo's girlfriend is visiting from her school a few towns over, and she and Ororo come from behind to win the whole thing. Erik's not a great loser, but by now he's drunk enough, and Charles is being cuddly enough, that he's able to let it go.

"What we should do," he's telling Charles, pretty late in the evening, "is we need to just, like, make our own country. You know? A mutant-only commune. We'll just find a tropical island somewhere and found our own government and start from scratch."

"I like how you say 'just find a tropical island' like that's something people do," Charles says.

"There are tons of islands just sitting around in the Indian Ocean," Erik says earnestly. "I read it on the internet."

"Yeah, you know, I always know you need to be cut off when you start babbling about this." Charles rubs Erik's thigh fondly. "Enjoy your beer, because that's your last one."

"Mmm, okay," Erik says. He swallows the rest of it in one long chug ("That's not what I meant," Charles protests) and then stands up from the couch to make his way to the bathroom to piss.

Once he's through, he weaves through the crowd back to where he left Charles—but instead of the smiling, happy Charles he left, Charles has on the absolutely blank face that means he's incensed and doesn't want anybody to know.

"What's wrong?" Erik says immediately.

"Nothing," Charles says. Standing in front of Charles is Randall, one of Erik's exes. Barely an ex, really—they danced at one show, fucked after it, and fucked one other time before Randall started their next encounter by questioning Charles' worth.

No one gets to do that. Ever.

"Are you starting shit again, you prick?" Erik asks Randall. "I told you to stay the fuck away from him."

"No," Randall says, "I was just telling him that I hope he enjoys having your pity fuck while it lasts, before you get bored and move on to someone worthy of ruling beside you."

"I can't believe people actually listen to you when you talk about that ludicrous plan," Charles murmurs, shaking his head, but Erik ignores him. Erik barely hears him. Erik's ears are ringing.

"I told you before, asshole, you don't get to talk about him like that. You're the one who's not fucking worthy, you scumbag. Get the hell out of here!" He balls his hands into fists. It feels like his entire body is vibrating. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice is telling him that this is going to make Charles mad—that Charles hates it when he gets into fights, that Charles _really_ hates it when he gets into fights about Charles, that Charles is probably not going to have sex with him tonight if he fights this guy.

The majority of Erik's mind is livid that anyone, _anyone_ would dare question Charles. That someone so stupid and worthless would think he was better than Charles just makes it worse.

"This isn't your house, asshole, you can't just tell me to leave!" Randall sneers.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Charles says through his teeth, "because _we're_ leaving." He grabs Erik's hand and tugs it, pulling Erik away from the drink table, pointedly wrapping Erik's hand around the back of Charles' seat, and then moving towards the door. Erik walks backwards, letting Charles guide him, still glaring at Randall.

"Still completely whipped, I see," Randall says. He's following them now, even as Charles is rolling faster away. "You don't know what you're worth if you think he's all you deserve."

"You don't know anything, you dickhead!" Erik shouts. "I don't deserve him—it's not the other way around! And you don't deserve to breathe the same air as him! He could ruin you! He could make you run fucking crying to your mother, and what could you do about it? You'd piss yourself and run away!"

They're through the door now. It shuts between Erik and Randall as Charles navigates the bump of the two inch step from the door jamb to the sidewalk and then lurches forward fast enough to yank Erik after him. The door doesn't stay closed for long. Randall comes barrelling out of it seconds later.

"You're a fucking lunatic, you cocksucker!" Randall shouts as the door slams again behind him.

"That's not even an insult, I fucking love sucking cock, you shitstain!" Erik yells back.

"Erik, let's _go_ ," Charles snaps.

"You're nothing!" Erik shouts, letting go of Charles' chair. "You're not even a fucking dot on anyone's radar! _You're_ the pity fuck, just a fucking pretty face who gave mediocre head that I fucking passed my goddamn time with while waiting for something real. You're not gonna be fucking ruling anything with anyone, because you're a one-note pencil-dick shithead who—"

And then Randall hits him. And Charles can't really blame him for defending himself, can he?

Randall is skinny, but he's pretty tough, too, and he's taller than Erik, with a better reach. They're honestly pretty evenly matched, getting in about the same amount of punches. Once they hit the sidewalk and it turns more into wrestling, neither of them can manage to get the upper hand. Erik's vaguely aware of the noise of people gathering and talking, but he's too furious to care about anything except winning.

Randall manages to roll them over again, pinning Erik down. Erik struggles, but he can't quite slip free, no matter how hard he tries. Randall sneers down at him again, and then—

Erik can't believe it when he realizes what's happening. He really can't. There's no way Randall can be that stupid, is there? There's no way he's going to try and use his powers.

But no: Randall really is that stupid. Erik can sense the charge of electricity just before Randall releases it and he immediately pushes his own powers out in return, sending the shock directly back to Randall himself.

It's not strong enough to really hurt or damage, but it's enough to stun a bit. Randall rolls off of Erik, onto his back with a groan. 

Erik climbs back onto his feet, brushing some of the dirt off his clothes. There's a stain on his jeans, and his shirt is torn, which sucks—he got this at a thrift store, there's no way he can replace it. He kicks Randall, but not too hard. Not as hard as he wants to, certainly. "You're an idiot," he says. "You _know_ I can control electromagnetism. What the fuck?"

Randall just groans again in response.

Erik takes a deep breath, letting the feeling of triumph soar through him. He might as well enjoy it as long as he can, because now that the fight's over, he's going to have to deal with Charles being mad at him.

Fuck, he hates Charles being mad at him. Charles, for all he understands Erik better than anybody, just doesn't seem to get it sometimes—that there are things Erik just _has_ to do. And fucking up a piece of trash like Randall is really, really in that category.

He makes his way past the gawking bystanders who've gathered on the sidewalk to where Charles is waiting, very still. Erik can't quite read the expression on Charles' face.

"Are you ready to go home now?" Charles says quietly.

Erik nods, and Charles turns and leads them to Erik's car without another word. 

Actually, Charles is quiet all the way to his dorm room. Erik hovers for a moment in the doorway after Charles goes inside—they had planned earlier for Erik to come spend the night, but if Charles is pissed with him, maybe he doesn't want him here anymore. 

"Close the door," Charles says, which Erik takes to mean he can stay. 

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of Charles' bed, right across from where Charles has stopped. Charles doesn't say anything, he just stares at Erik. His face is unreadable, even as Erik searches his eyes.

"You're an idiot," Charles says.

"I know," Erik says, "but you heard the shit he was saying, Charles! I couldn't let that go. And, like, you saw what happened, he hit me first. You can't blame me for that—"

"Shut up," Charles says, and then, before Erik's sure what's going on, Charles is fisting his hands in Erik's t-shirt and pulling him forward for a deep, messy kiss.

"Don't ever do that again," Charles murmurs against Erik's mouth. 

"I'm really confused right now," Erik confesses.

Charles pulls away far enough that Erik can see his face. "I do really hate it when you get in fights," Charles says. "It's stupid and immature and insulting. I've told you all of that enough times it should be in your head by now."

"I know," Erik starts to say, "but like I _told_ you—"

" _But_ ," Charles says, talking loudly over him, "fuck, Erik, that was so fucking hot." He runs his hand down Erik's chest, firm and greedy. It makes Erik shiver. "Just seeing you leap out like that, like you were daring any motherfucker to just try you—the bloody knuckles, the bruises. It's so fucking hot. So this time you get a one-time-only free pass."

"Oh," Erik says. He raises his hand up to his own face, gingerly touching a bruise on his cheekbone where Randall punched him. "You really thought it was hot?"

"If you ever do anything like that again, I won't talk to you for a week," Charles warns him. "But right now you should take off your pants immediately so I can give you a blowjob."

Erik's still not entirely sure what's going on, but he knows a good thing when he hears one.

He starts to take off his pants, fumbling with his belt, distracted by the way that Charles keeps running his hands over Erik's chest. He slips his hands under Erik's t-shirt. His grip is hot, possessive, and rough and it's driving Erik out of his mind. He finally untangles himself from his belt and uses his powers to open his fly. He's trying to push his jeans down from his awkward position, half sitting on the bed, half hovering over Charles' lap, when Charles apparently decides he's taking too long and pulls him forward to kiss him. Hard.

One of Randall's hits must have cut his mouth, because it stings when Charles presses against him. The kiss is sloppy and wet, mostly teeth, and Erik's tongue ring clanks against both his teeth and Charles' in the confusion and haste. One of Charles' hands is holding Erik's head firmly in place so Charles can kiss him within an inch of his life. The other snakes down into Erik's pants and starts to stroke him, roughly. He's already half-hard—he always gets that heady adrenaline spike after a fight, the one that translates best into fucking away the rest of his energy. Charles' gaze on him, his hands and mouth, are doing a pretty good job of getting him the rest of the way there.

"Fuck," Erik gasps when Charles moves his mouth lower to suck and bite Erik's pulse point. "Oh, fuck, you—you really shouldn't—shit—shouldn't reward..." He breaks off on a hiss when Charles' teeth sink into the skin of his throat. He's actually kind of amazed he doesn't come right then.

Before he can say anything else, Charles pulls back and pushes him away until Charles can lean over and get his mouth on Erik's cock. Then he's _really_ surprised he doesn't come immediately. It's rough and fast and walking the sweet line between pain and pleasure. It's only maybe the third time they've had sex without a condom and only the second time Erik's cock has been in Charles' mouth without one and the two experiences couldn't be more different. Before, Charles had been gentle and awed and exploratory. Today, he's pulling Erik apart as quickly and efficiently as he knows how.

Erik's hands eventually find Charles' hair, sinking in and holding on. He's making a lot of noise, more noise than he usually does. His entire body feels like a live wire, and it's difficult not to just thrust down Charles' throat or snap his hips upward. It's difficult to concentrate on controlling himself when Charles is so out of control.

Because he is. He's flushed and wild and gorgeous and he's taking nearly all of Erik's cock with a speed and tightness and intensity that already makes Erik want to scream. His nails are digging into Erik's hips, scratching against him, and the feeling of that, the rough, firm glide of Charles' tongue against his cock, and the look in Charles' eyes like he wants to devour Erik whole....

It's too much. He comes with a high shout, feeling like his entire body is on fire. He shouts himself hoarse, and before he can do anything more, collapse or sigh or even let go of Charles, Charles pulls him down for a kiss.

Oh god, tasting his own come when he kisses Charles really, really, shouldn't be that hot. It's a dirty, brutal kiss that ends with Charles guiding Erik's hands to his hips.

"Up," he says. "Get me up on the bed."

Erik pulls while Charles pushes and they're lying in an awkward tangle of limbs. Charles manages to straighten them out, then peels off his own shirt and wraps his fingers in Erik's hair, directing his mouth to Charles' nipples without another word.

Erik knows what to do. He sucks and bites, wet and messy, alternating between the two. He does it harder and sharper and faster than he might normally. He thinks there might be marks on Charles' chest in the morning. Charles really doesn't seem to mind—in fact, his hands stay in Erik's hair, forcing his head, his mouth, to stay in place. It seems like no time passes at all before Charles lurches underneath him and then groans and gasps and pushes Erik's mouth away from his oversensitive chest.

Erik falls back against the bed. He's still wearing his shirt and his pants are stuck around his ankles. Charles' pants are still on. They're both covered in spit and sweat and red marks. Erik's knuckles are still caked in blood.

"Shouldn't reward bad behavior," Erik croaks. "That's what I was...yeah. Cause, uh...right now, fighting seems awesome."

"I won't touch you for a week if you do it again," Charles says, but it's hard for him to sound menacing when he voice is all gravelly and fucked out.

"We'll see," Erik says, smiling to himself, and Charles shoves him, but then cuddles up against him anyway.

The rest of the rest of the weekend passes without incident, but Monday morning starts with a surprise in the form of a reminder that housing registration is set to begin later this week. Erik doesn't think too hard about it at first—combined mutant-human housing gets you like, 600 extra points in housing assignments, so he and Tom usually have a pretty strong lead on the rest of the people in their year, and since Charles and the other kids who need accessible housing get first pick of anyone, it's pretty easy to make sure they're still close together.

He's halfway through his shower when it occurs to him that he and Charles are both dudes. They could, in theory, _live together_.

Charles has made it pretty clear in the past that he didn't want to live with Erik, but that was _before_. That was when they were just friends. Everything is different now.

He thinks about asking about it at breakfast, but decides it's probably better to ask Charles about it privately, not in front of all their friends in between Armando's boyfriend talking about Star Wars and Emma and Moira making plans to touch up Moira's dye job tonight. He and Charles both have classes all morning, so it's not until after lunch that they're alone together. 

Tom has class Monday afternoons, so it's one of the times Erik and Charles tend to hang out in Erik's room, working on their homework together. Erik has a ton of reading for this week he really needs to start on, but he really wants to get this figured out first—he's been distracted thinking about it all day—so he clears his throat while Charles is still getting settled on the bed with his tablet.

"What's up?" Charles says, still looking down at his screen.

"I was thinking," Erik says.

Charles smiles and lifts his head. "Were you, then? Should I be worried?"

"Shut up," Erik says affectionately. "I'm serious, I was thinking about how the housing stuff is this week, right? Have you thought at all about where you're living next year?"

"Hm, not really?" Charles says with a shrug. "I don't know. I probably should. I suppose I sort of figured I'll stay in the same place again."

"I mean, you could do that. Or, maybe, I was thinking. We could room together instead."

Charles bites his lip thoughtfully.

"I know you've said before no way," Erik says, "but it's different now, right? I mean. I spend most nights in your room now anyway."

"It _is_ different," Charles says slowly, "but...I'm not sure."

"We could room together in one of the dorms, or like, we could even get an apartment off-campus, if you wanted." That last idea has only occurred to Erik just now. There are plenty of upperclassmen who rent close by. They're crappy apartments, but they're pretty cheap. He and Charles could have, like, their own actual place. It's exciting to think about but also really overwhelming, almost as scary as Mom's not-quite-jokes about them getting married.

Charles is shaking his head. "We're definitely not moving into an apartment together," Charles says, and if Erik is a little disappointed, he's also relieved. "And I think...I think it's important that we both have space where we can retreat from each other if we need to? Like, we're so close and we're together so much and even though, you know, you're my favorite person in the world, sometimes I need to be able to be by myself, and you do, too, even if you don't admit it. And I don't think we could do that sharing a dorm room."

It makes sense. Erik has to admit it. "I guess," he says, trying not to sound as grudging about it as he feels.

"There is something else we could maybe do, though," Charles says. "Since we're going to be juniors, we could live in Simonson Hall next year. The dorms there are four-person suites—so everyone has their own bedrooms, but you share a living room and kitchen and bathroom. So we'd be together but still have space of our own."

Erik thinks about it, a grin spreading slowly across his face. "Have I told you lately that you're brilliant?"

"Never often enough," Charles says. "So you want to do that?"

"Fuck, yes," Erik says. "I'll talk to Tom about it when he gets back from class, and then at dinner we can ask Armando to be our fourth. I bet he'd go for it."

"Okay," Charles says, and he's grinning too.

It's tough resisting the urge to climb onto the bed and kiss Charles senseless, but Erik's a strong guy. And he really does have a _ton_ of reading this week.

Besides, he can always do it later.

Tom and Armando both agree enthusiastically to the plan, and by the end of the week, they have their housing assignment for next year pinned down.

Erik's really happy to know he and Charles will be so close together next year, but there's an undercurrent of uneasiness that starts to bubble up in him, too, as the days start to pass. The thing about thinking about next year is...well, it really highlights how soon _this_ year is going to be over.

The parts of last summer without Charles were torturously long. Erik can't imagine how much worse it's going to be now. Even with Charles visiting again, it seems like an impossibly long time apart. He's gotten used to seeing Charles every morning, every evening. He's gotten used to sleeping next to Charles, or at least close by. He can't imagine spending whole days, whole _weeks_ not touching Charles at all until they're back here for school in September.

He doesn't mean to mope. In fact, the first time he catches himself obsessing over their summer apart, he forces himself to focus on the moment and worry about it later. He and Charles had already agreed, months ago, over spring break, that Charles would come back to stay with Erik for roughly the same time he did last year. It was better, he thought, to focus on planning that month than to obsess over the months apart. 

He's been throwing himself into planning. He's been throwing himself into spending time with Charles just being together. He thinks he's doing a pretty good job of not moping, until the Wednesday before finals start.

He and Charles are in the library, studying. Well, Charles is studying. Erik is looking at Charles, thinking about how beautiful he is in the weird low light of the library. He takes a picture of Charles—leaning over his book, hair swept back across his forehead, drumming his fingers on the table—and launches Instagram. After carefully cropping it and choosing a filter, he types, _Sure, a break from school is nice, but not being 400 miles apart would be nicer._

He hits "share" and allows himself a tiny sigh before he goes back to re-reading his notes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees notifications start to ping on his phone, but ignores them. He's amassed a few hundred Instagram followers, mostly strangers that he pretends follow him for the occasional mutant rights screed, but he knows probably mostly just think he's hot. It's kind of a nice ego boost to post a shirtless picture of himself (it was _artistic_ and shit, not those stupid lifting-up-my-shirt-to-show-off-my-abs pictures that a lot of gay guys post) and have a hundred strangers like it or comment on how hot he is.

They study for a little while and then head back to meet everyone at the student center for movie night. They're showing _Jurassic Park_ which Erik loves and Charles loves too, despite the awful science. It's easy enough to distract him from his usual rant during the science portions by kissing him.

Except they get a little involved in the kissing and it seems like a better idea to maybe leave the movie and go back to Charles' room instead.

Definitely a better idea. A really good idea, when all is said and done. Erik is able to check off another toy from his mental list of the contents of Charles' box, and Charles has that delighted, smug look on his face, the one that Erik can't get enough of. He lazily snaps another couple photos of Charles and opens Instagram again. 

"Ugh, I wish you didn't post so many silly photos of me on the internet," Charles murmurs, wrapping himself around Erik as he waits for the app to load. 

"They're not silly," Erik says. "You only think they're silly because you only think you look good if you're making that weird picture smile you do. You look better without it, and you always look hot in my pictures, I promise."

He has a ton of notifications from his last photo. He scrolls through them quickly. Mostly likes, a few dumb comments from strangers filled with "awww" and hearts and heart-eyed emojis, and one at the bottom from Emma.

_You need to stop moping. It's getting old._

"Moping?" Erik says out loud. "I'm not _moping_. I'm like, purposely doing the opposite of moping. I'm living in the moment. I just left one of my favorite movies so you could stick a—a—"

"Vibrating prostate stimulator," Charles supplies.

"—a vibrating prostate stimulator in my butt!" He looks away from his phone for a moment to reiterate, "That was awesome, by the way."

"I got that impression, yes," Charles says, and kisses Erik's shoulder.

"I'm not moping!" Erik says back to his phone, as if Emma can hear him. He taps out of notifications and posts his latest photo ( _Smug shithead ♥_ ), thinking up a reply to Emma, but Charles takes his phone before he can type anything. "Hey!"

"I want to look at something," Charles says. He taps over to Erik's profile and starts to scroll through his posts. There's the one he just made, then the one from earlier in the library. After that are two selfies, another one of Charles, sleepy and sweet early Monday morning with the caption _Just eleven more days of waking up to this_. Next up is a selfie where he's making a disgusted face with a caption about how much summer is going to suck, then two more of Charles with similar captions, two pictures from the Mutant Threat show he and Charles went to last weekend, another selfie, three more of Charles with sad summer captions—

Okay. Maybe he's moping a little.

"I've always posted pictures of you," Erik points out, weakly.

"Before we were dating, you posted a handful of us together," Charles says. "When we first started dating, you'd post one of me on my own every once in a while. This is at least a dozen pictures in the last two weeks. You've been taking pictures you haven't posted, too."

Busted.

"It just..." Erik flops back and covers his eyes with his forearm. "It's going to be fucking...the worst! It was bad last year, but winter break was _awful_ this year, and we hadn't even started going out yet! Imagine how much worse _whole months_ without each other are going to be. At least now I'll have like...I don't know. Pictures I can look at. Even if it won't be the same." He stretches both his arms over his head and sighs. 

"Should I be worried about what you're going to do with those pictures?" Charles jokes, but Erik's not in the mood to joke back.

"They're not even for that," he says. "They're just...I don't know, to have." He pauses. "Although, if you wanted to take some like, sexy pictures—that'd be okay." He raises his eyebrows.

"No," Charles says firmly. 

"Not for Instagram, just for me!" Erik says.

"No," Charles repeats, but it's less firm this time. There might be wiggle room there.

"I just wish...I don't know," Erik says. "You hate it at home. You could just...come and see me all summer. My parents wouldn't care, you know that. And we could spend the whole summer together."

He's expecting Charles to pipe up immediately with the reasons why that's impossible, but instead Charles is quiet for a moment.

"Wait, are you actually considering it?" Erik says, sitting up quickly enough to make his head spin a little. He stares down at Charles with wide eyes. "Charles. Charles, don't toy with me here."

"I'm not toying with you," Charles says. "I'm just trying to think how it could work..."

"Charles!" Erik says. He kneels up so he can straddle Charles by the waist and beam down at him. Ruth used to tease him about this smile all the time—she said he looked like a predator, like he was waiting to eat people. When Erik was younger, he was kind of self-conscious about it, trying to keep his lips shut whenever he grinned, but that was before he grew enough to stop caring what other people thought.

Besides, Charles has always liked it.

"I can't come for the whole summer," Charles says. "Raven's graduating the second week of June, so I have to stay home at least until then. And—I mean, I know you say your parents won't mind, and you're probably right, but you still have to ask them. _Ask_ them, not tell them."

"Fine, sure, okay," Erik says eagerly.

Charles smiles, running his hands back up and down Erik's sides as he thinks some more. "And...and also, it can't quite be like last year. I don't feel comfortable just staying the whole time and taking your parents' stuff and not contributing anything."

"Hmm," Erik says. "That might be a harder sell. I don't think they'll take your money."

"Yeah, but they said I'm a member of the family, right?" Charles says, his eyes gleaming in the way they always do when he gets a really crafty idea. Charles likes to act like Erik is the wild one, but Charles is fucking awesome at scheming. He's subtle where Erik just barges through. If someone got far enough on Charles' bad side, he wouldn't punch them. He'd get revenge so they never knew what hit them. 

Erik is so in love with him.

"So if I'm a member of the family," Charles continues, "then I should be doing chores and stuff just like you and Ruth. Not treated like a guest."

"You're an evil genius," Erik informs him.

"And then—I want to spend some time with Raven, at the end of the summer, too. I know she's just coming back here with us, but still. I want to help her pack, and just...hang out with her before she gets here and gets caught up in everything, you know?"

Erik nods. He does the math in his head. Three weeks at the beginning, a week or so at the end—that leaves two months in the middle. That's a million times better than what they had. Erik is still going to have to work most of the time if he's going to be able to afford gas and textbooks and any non-necessities next year, but he'll have Charles for mornings and evenings and nights and weekends. 

"When does Ruth graduate?" Charles says. 

Erik tries to remember back to the email she'd sent him about it. It's usually in mid-June, so... "The week after Raven, I think?"

Charles nods, like that was what he thought. "And you don't start working at your mom's office until around then, right? It's not as soon as you get home?"

"Yeah, around then," Erik says. "Why?"

Charles' hands are curled, loose and warm, on the boniest part of Erik's hips, his thumb stroking idly against the line where his thigh starts. "Maybe...you could come down to my house for a week or so, too. I bet Raven would be happy to have you there to celebrate her."

"What about your mom and stepdad?" Erik says. "Won't they freak out?"

Charles rolls his eyes. "They're going to be in London for all of June and half of July. Not that they'd probably notice even if they were home. You've seen pictures of my house. You could have twenty people living there and they'd never have to interact if they didn't want to."

Erik _had_ seen pictures of Charles' house. Which Erik personally wouldn't actually qualify as a house so much as a mansion, or possibly an actual fucking castle. Erik had grown up with one full bathroom and a half-bath on the ground floor, and the thinnest wall in the world between his and Ruth's bedrooms. It was a little nicer now, since his dad had gotten a promotion at his work a few years back and they'd done some improvements, which was one of the reasons Erik felt pretty confident that they'd only need a few easy fixes to make it accessible for Charles. But after seeing Charles' house, he'd been hyperaware for a couple of days that the place he was bringing Charles home to wasn't anywhere near up to those standards.

(He'd gotten over it pretty quickly, though. Charles hates that place, for one thing, and for another Erik's parents' house is way nicer than the dorms, which Charles has no problem with. Charles may be a rich bastard, but he's never seemed like a snob.)

"If you come down a few days before Raven's graduation, then you could stay a few days after and then we could drive to your house together," Charles says. "We'd get there in time for Ruth's graduation and as long as I'm back, I don't know, a week before Freshman orientation...."

Charles smiles up at Erik like he's so fucking proud of himself and Erik can't help it—he leans over, balancing his weight on Charles' shoulders, and kisses him. Charles sighs happily when he pulls away.

"So that's a good plan?" Charles asks.

"It's a great plan," Erik says. "It's a fucking brilliant plan. I love you so much. This summer is going to be amazing."

"You have to talk to your parents first," Charles warns him.

"Yeah, I will, I swear," Erik says. "I need to make sure I have the dates right, too. Ruthie has like, National Honor Society dinner or whatever and Scholarship Night and all those things, too, but I think we should be able to pull it off. She'll probably love having you there, too."

Charles is grinning ear to ear and Erik can feel the same expression on his own face. His cheeks are starting to hurt. 

"Three weeks on our own, then the rest of the summer together, then a week apart and then back at school," Charles says.

And they'll be living together at school. And Charles will be coming back for winter break, too.

Erik lets himself, just for a moment, imagine a world where three weeks is the longest they're apart for the rest of their lives. It feels...silly. Strange. He knows that maybe they'll get sick of each other (but he doubts it) and maybe they'll end up doing different things after they graduate (but he hopes not) and maybe they'll break up (but the idea of that makes him sick), but just for a moment, imagining that getting through the next three weeks means getting Charles with him for the rest of his life feels precious and humbling. 

He lays down again, pressing himself up against Charles' side. When Charles turns his head, they're almost nose to nose, sharing the same pillow. Erik feels very young and very small and unspeakably happy.

"One more picture," Erik says, waving his fingers and directing his phone up to float above them. When Charles tries to look up at the phone, Erik tickles him, and the resulting shot is Erik staring fondly at Charles as he laughs.

_Change of plans—looks like we're going to have the best summer ever._

He shares the post and then lets his phone drop to the ground.

"Being in love is kind of awesome," he tells Charles seriously.

"Being in love with you has been one of the strangest experiences of my life," Charles tells him. "In a good way. In a really good way." He licks his lips and then bites his lower lip. Erik can see the indecision lurking in his eyes. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asks.

"Of course," Erik says. "You can tell me anything."

Charles takes a deep breath and then blows it out slowly. He just looks at Erik for a moment, almost shyly, and then curls his hand around Erik's jaw.

"I used to fall in love a lot," he says. "It's a telepath thing, I think—it's hard to explain. But I would fall in love when I saw a person's mind for the first time and it would be fast and real and delightful, but fleeting. Usually once I got to know them, it faded and I moved on and that was that." He drags his fingers across Erik's cheek and smiles. "You wanted to know how long I knew I was in love with you? Here's the secret: I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. And then I met you, and I waited to fall out of love like I always do and it never happened. I got to know you and I loved you more and it brought me every wonderful thing that's happened to me since I started college. So yes—it's been strange. But I'm so fucking happy it happened."

Erik thinks his mouth might be hanging open.

"All that time?" he asks hoarsely.

Charles nods. 

"I wish...I wish you said something," Erik says. He thinks about all the boys he dated, all months he and Charles could have been this already—tied up in each other, symbiotic, happy, perfect.

"I don't," Charles says. "Our friendship has been amazing. The things we've said and done together, the weird stupid adventures we've had—I've been thinking about it and I just don't know that we would have lasted if we started dating right away. I think we're different now, just a little. We made each other different. We changed each other just enough that this works. I don't know that you would have fallen in love with me if I wasn't your best friend first. I don't know that that's what you were looking for."

Erik is quiet, rolling it all around in his head. They've had part of his conversation before, and Erik thinks maybe Charles is right. Erik has never had a friend like Charles before. He's never felt this way about another person. He can be a shithead, he knows, and he was a fucking terrible boyfriend, as he's realized now, and it's possible that being Charles' friend—loving Charles, before he realized he was in love with Charles—maybe...taught him how to be...a person. It taught him how to care about someone else.

Loving Charles taught him how to be in love with Charles. It couldn't have happened in any other order, or it wouldn't have happened at all.

He brushes his fingers through Charles' hair and looks at him for a moment. Memorizes his face, the way his heartbeat feels with his chest pressed against Erik's, the color of his eyes, the freckles on his nose, the half-smile his lips are curled into.

"Now we know," he says quietly. "And we have the rest of forever to make up for it."

The half-smile turns into a full smile.

"We do," Charles says.

"I think we should start now," Erik says solemnly. Charles barely swallows a laugh.

"Oh, you do, do you?" he asks.

"I do," Erik agrees, and closes the distance between them with a kiss.

Three weeks apart is still a long time, after all. He still needs to store up as many memories as he can before they part ways, and Erik plans to be very, very thorough about it.


End file.
